


regenesis

by thessalonike (starblessed)



Series: side effects of coming back from the dead may include... [2]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Comfort, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Reggie Peters (Julie and The Phantoms), Hurt/Comfort, Reggie Is An Honorary Molina, Reggie Peters Needs a Hug (Julie and The Phantoms), Sibling Love, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29809713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/thessalonike
Summary: “It’s three in the morning, Luke!” The phone on her nightstand glows brightly, a sharp contrast to the rest of the room. It takes the blue light boring into her brain, forcibly waking it up, for the situation to sink in. When Julie turns back to Luke, her outrage has faded into alarm. “What’s going on?”Thunder rumbles in the distance; a lightning flash illuminates Luke’s face. Ice water floods Julie’s stomach, drenching her like the storm outside. She‘s never seen Luke so frightened before — not about the jolts, not about crossing over, not even when he remembers dying. Luke isn’t afraid of things, usually. Tonight, he looks terrified.“It’s Reggie,” Luke says, shaking his head. “You gotta come. Something’s wrong.”( side effects of coming back from the dead may include...3. you can get sick. really sick. )
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Julie Molina & Reggie Peters, Ray Molina & Reggie Peters, Reggie Peters & Reggie Peters's Parents (Julie and The Phantoms)
Series: side effects of coming back from the dead may include... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172465
Comments: 146
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

Carlos is the first one to bring it up.

“Hey, Julie?” he says, poking his head through her open bedroom door. Julie looks up from her biology homework to see him hovering. With a sigh, she nods, and he ventures into the room. “I need to talk to you about something… weird.”

With Carlos, that could mean anything. Julie tilts her head, interested against her better judgement. Something’s up; she knows her brother well enough to realize this isn’t another bizarre video game or sciencey question. Carlos is shuffling his feet, brows drawn tight together, just like Dad’s when  _ he’s _ upset. Something’s bothering him for real.

“What is it?” she asks, sitting up straight.

Carlos only hesitates a minute before meeting her eyes. He looks uncertain of himself — another red flag. “Can ghosts... get sick?”

That’s… a really good question, actually. Her automatic denial dies on her lips when Julie thinks twice — about Alex’s hayfever, the fact that the boys can eat again, that when Luke fell off the piano he had a huge bruise on his side that lasted for  _ days _ . For any normal ghost, the answer would be  _ no, of course not. _ Their ghosts aren’t normal ghosts.

Raising any of these questions with Carlos, though, will just lead to a thousand more questions — ones Julie has no idea how to answer. She and the boys have all agreed to keep their “weird incidents” to themselves until they figure out just what’s going on. It’s enough that other people can sometimes see them now, and they don’t disappear immediately after playing anymore. 

_ That _ raises enough questions on its own… never mind whether they’ve got working immune systems.

So Julie just purses her lips, considering the question for a minute before shrugging. “I don’t think so. But, I mean, ghosts aren’t supposed to play music either, so who knows?”

Carlos nods, as if this extremely vague answer makes perfect sense. “I was afraid of that.”

Julie sits up completely, abandoning her homework. Carlos glances over his shoulder, then steps forward, leaning in as though confiding an ultra-confidential secret. Big-sister-instincts on Red Alert, Julie leans forward too.

“You’d better check on Reggie,” Carlos says. “He just left, but we were watching TV together and he was acting super weird! It was like — like, I don’t know, his ghost powers were on the fritz or something!”

“What do you mean?”

“Like — okay, he kept trying to pick up the remote, but his hand was just passing through it. And then it was like — one second I could see him, and the next second I could see  _ through _ him. Like a real ghost!”

Julie isn’t going to point out the logic on that one. Going see-through, though… that’s a new one, even for the guys.

“And that’s not all.” Carlos looks down at his feet, and now he looks really worried. “He was coughing a lot.”

_ “Coughing?” _ Julie echoes, like she’s forgotten the meaning of the word.

“Yeah, really nasty coughs… like, you remember that time I caught that chicken flu and kept hacking up globs of that _super_ _gross_ green —“

“Okay, okay, enough!” Julie throws up her hands, forcing her gross little brother to jump back. A bit of breathing room doesn’t make the worry on Carlos’s face go away, though… and it doesn’t make Julie any less alarmed at the thought of one of the boys coughing,  _ sick _ coughing, when they shouldn’t be able to get sick in the first place.

“He looked really tired, he kept coughing, and his powers were acting weird,” Carlos reiterates, clearly running out of patience. “I’m just saying. You should check the guy out.”

Despite his casual insistence, Julie can hear the concern underneath. Of course Carlos is worried about Reggie; all the boys have been slowly making their presence known in the family, especially now that they can sometimes be seen, but Reggie quite literally haunts their home. He’s almost always on hand to sit with Dad while he’s working, play video games with Carlos, or help him with his homework. The bond Julie’s little brother and her bassist share is… kind of weird, but sweet at the same time. Reggie doesn’t say much about his home life, before dying, but he mentioned having a little brother. With his family gone, Carlos might be the next best thing.

And some days, Reggie seems like he  _ really _ needs a family.

“Yeah, of course,” Julie says, laying a comforting hand on her brother’s arm. “I’ll check it out, don’t worry about it. Reggie’ll be fine.” She raises her eyebrows. “Now, you’ve finished all your homework, right?”

It’s enough of a distraction to send Carlos back downstairs, groaning. Julie follows him, sparing only a thought to her left-behind Bio work, and the essay she has to write later tonight. Everything else can wait. Family is way more important.

* * *

She doesn’t find Reggie in his usual haunt. The studio is practically deserted; mid-afternoon, on a day without band practice scheduled, Alex has gone off to hang with Willie. Luke and Reggie are sometimes out too, doing whatever it is sorta-ghosts do in their free time… so she isn’t too concerned not to find Reggie there when she pokes her head through the door.

Luke is home, however, bent over his dog-eared old songbook. He waves her over when he sees her… and from there, all thoughts of schoolwork or little brothers’ worries go out the window. Luke has that effect on her. When he’s around, the world sounds like a song, and it’s such a beautiful melody that she’s glad to lose herself.

Before she knows it, the sun is low in the sky, and they’ve workshopped two new songs together. Julie only realizes when her Dad calls out to her for dinner; she asks Luke if he wants to join (the boys sometimes do, since there are days they’re able to stomach food now), but he just shakes his head. 

“I’m gonna keep working on this. We really got something here.”

“Okay,” she replies, teasing a tiny smile. “Glad to help.”

“You’re more than help. You’re… my muse.”

There should be laws against Luke Patterson’s puppy dog eyes. As butterflies fill her chest, Julie nudges him with her shoulder, and stands from the couch. Luke chuckles; they bid goodnight with smiles instead of words.

She only remembers to ask when she’s halfway out the door. “Oh, wait! Have you seen Reggie?”

“Not since this morning.” Luke shrugs. “If he ain’t in your house, he’s probably at the beach. He hangs out there a lot.”

“Alone?”

“Hey. Even he needs some quiet time sometimes.”

Julie’s brow furrows… but Luke’s got that  _ tone _ in his voice again, the one that only hints at things the Sunset Curve boys don’t like talking about. Julie won’t push her friends over what haunts their afterlives. Instead, she just frowns, leaning against the half-open door.

“Keep an eye on him when he comes back, okay? Carlos said he was acting weird earlier.”

Luke’s eyes sharpen, going serious, and Julie knows Reggie is in good hands. “Don’t worry,” he says, nodding. “Well take care of him.”

She feels a little lighter when she walks back to the house, to join her family for dinner. The air is humid, charged for an impending thunderstorm. The thought almost excites her — storms always bring something  _ new _ with them.

( _ Oh,  _ she’ll think later,  _ I had no idea. _ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this absolutely wasn’t supposed to become a multichapter fic... but honestly, I started writing, and all of a sudden had 5000+ words of sick reggie / molina family feels, and it’s not slowing down anytime soon. I’ve broken what I have down into four chapters so far, so this will probably be finished by... like, tomorrow.
> 
> in the meantime... some Reggie whump is always appreciated in these trying times. enjoy!!


	2. Chapter 2

“Julie… _Julie,_ c’mon, you gotta wake up.”

It’s hard to say what’s more annoying — the insistent whisper, or the _shaking_. Somewhere in the distance, Julie is conscious that she isn’t alone. The sharp pattern of rain drums against her windowpane, but it’s almost drowned out by the voice above her. Julie stirs awake to find her bed being rattled, with her in it; the mattress is quaking beneath her, box springs squealing. 

When she pushes herself upright, the earthquake stops. She finds herself staring into Luke’s wide eyes through the darkness.

“What are you _doing?”_ she exclaims. “Shaking my bed?”

“I, I —“ He makes a few vague, dramatic gestures in her direction. “I dunno, I didn’t wanna just _grab you,_ you were sleeping —“

“Because it’s three in the morning, Luke!” The phone on her nightstand glows brightly, a sharp contrast to the rest of the room. It takes the blue light boring into her brain, forcibly waking it up, for the situation to sink in. When Julie turns back to Luke, her outrage has faded into alarm. “What’s going on?”

Thunder rumbles in the distance; a lightning flash illuminates Luke’s face. Ice water floods Julie’s stomach, drenching her like the storm outside. She‘s never seen Luke so frightened before — not about the jolts, not about crossing over, not even when he remembers dying. Luke isn’t afraid of things, usually. Tonight, he looks _terrified._

“It’s Reggie,” Luke says, shaking his head. “You gotta come. Something’s wrong.”

* * *

Julie rushes down the path to the garage, still in her pajamas, with a rain slicker thrown over her head. This does absolutely nothing to protect her from the torrent. Rain pelts her shoulders, her back, stinging every inch of exposed skin it can find. While she’s only outside for a minute, by the time she bursts into the garage, she’s pretty much drenched.

And she isn’t the only one.

“Reggie!” she exclaims, rushing over to the couch. “What happened?”

It’s a jarring sight, Reggie just sitting there — he’s hunched over, shoulders hung low, still in a way he never is. Water glistens in his hair, the usually coiffed strands gone dark and unruly. It runs down his skin in rivulets... along his neck, his back, his bare arms. Someone has pulled his red flannel off, draping it over the back of a nearby chair; one glance makes clear it’s been soaked through. _All_ of Reggie’s clothes are drenched. Even as he sits there, in the ostensible warmth of the studio, he hunches in on himself, shivering like he’s still caught in a storm.

As Julie reaches his side, Reggie lifts his head, and offers her a thin smile. It does nothing to reassure her. Dark shadows linger under glassy, unfocused eyes. His skin has gone way too pale, even if he is chilled to the bone.

“Hey, Julie,” he mutters. His attempt at a smile fades. “I t-told the guys not to wake you.”

“What did you think we were going to do?” Alex demands, hands on his hips. He’s tense, in the way he only gets when worried, and hovering, the way he only does when _worried_ -worried. When he turns to Julie, she reads the situation plainly in his eyes. “He didn’t come back until an hour ago. Had us worrying out of our minds — because it’s _such_ a great idea to sit on the beach in the middle of a thunderstorm, right, Reg?” 

Reggie flinches at the harsh tone. Regret flickers across Alex’s face, and he ducks his head.

“He poofed back here and literally collapsed,” Luke reports from Julie’s other side, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “Something’s wrong, he — he’s cold, but he’s hot too, see? Like… I dunno.”

“The word you’re looking for is _fever_ ,” Alex says, while Reggie gives another shiver.

Sweeping in without a second’s hesitation, Julie finds a spot by her friend’s side. Pulling a blanket around Reggie’s trembling shoulders is a good excuse to get close to him; as soon as she feels the heat radiating off of his bare skin, she doesn’t need an excuse anymore. Julie presses the back of her hand against Reggie’s forehead, brows furrowing. Reggie leans into her touch without seeming to realize it, and gives a little groan.

“Reggie,” she says softly. “You’re really warm.”

“Nuh-uh,” he mutters. “I’m freezing. It’s s-so — cold, Julie. The rain was cold.” His voice goes soft. “I didn’t mean to stay so long.”

The boys exchange glances, their eyes going sad. Whatever they won’t say out loud, Julie can only guess at. (Reggie lived by the beach when he was alive. He mentioned once, when Julie’s head was so cluttered she could barely think straight, that when he needed to clear his mind, he used to go down and sit right near the surf, letting the waves lap at his heels. The idea made her smile, so they went there together — hand in hand, sitting in the sand for at least an hour, until the sunset began to turn dark and the water drenched the cuffs of Julie’s jeans. They didn’t say much — it was the first time she ever realized Reggie could be quiet — but the break was so comfortable, and so peaceful, that Julie can’t think of it without feeling warm.)

When Reggie needs quiet, he goes to the beach. 

“Oh, Reggie,” she murmurs, her heart aching. If he felt sick, why didn’t he just come to them? Why didn’t he say something instead of going off on his own?

Julie doesn’t get the chance to ask. He suddenly doubles forward, a fit of coughs rattling his thin frame. Each one tears from him with force, from deep in his chest, echoing like they’re trying to tear something. Reggie’s entire body goes tense; he doubles in on himself, convulsing with each hack. It’s all Julie can do to rub his back, trying to soothe him through it, even as his retching drowns her out.

When she meets the other boys’ gazes, they look as frightened as she feels.

“What do we do?” Luke mutters, as Reggie’s coughing fades off into harsh wheezes for breath. He looks to Alex, who’s equally helpless — and then both their gazes turn to Julie, as though _she_ ought to know.

Reggie’s slumped over beneath her hands, still burning with fever, and trembling on top of that. His lips have lost all color; his pale skin has gone grey, freckles standing out across his nose like teardrops on paper. His eyes won’t — or _can’t_ — focus, even as he sways slightly back and forth.

She’s seen that look before — seen sick before, seen _fading_ before — and it strikes a note of fear Julie isn’t prepared to deal with. Swallowing back her own dread, she wracks her brain to think of what to do. A way to help, a way to make him _better..._

Nope. She’s got nothing.

* * *

“Dad?”

Correction: she’s got a father in her corner, and she’s not afraid to wake him up at 3am in a crisis.

To his credit, Ray Molina is ready for anything. Especially when that _anything_ involves his daughter, dripping wet and frightened, shaking him awake in the middle of the night. He scrambles up immediately, fumbling for the nightstand. Even in the dark, his hand finds Julie’s shoulder, gripping her tight.

“ _Mija?_ What’s — what’s wrong, it’s the middle of the night, what —“

“Something’s really wrong, Dad, he’s got a fever —“

“Who? Your brother?”

For an inexplicable second, Julie almost says _yes_ — she’s just distracted, not thinking, that’s all it is — before catching herself. “No,” she replies, glancing anxiously over her shoulder, before turning back with wide, scared eyes. “Reggie.”

Ray springs out of bed without even turning the light on.


	3. Chapter 3

From there, Ray takes charge. This is for the best, considering he actually knows what he’s doing. It’s not his first rodeo taking care of a sick kid. Sure, sick ghosts are a little outside his realm of expertise, but… a kid is a kid, the flu is the flu, and from the looks of Reggie, he’s got a bad case of both.

First order of business is getting the poor boy some dry clothes. As soon as Ray suggests it, the other guys begin rustling through their backpacks, pulling out whatever they can spare (Reggie, Alex informs him, doesn’t have any spare clothes — only the leather jacket and flannel he wears on a daily basis, along with a few shirts. _That’s_ a problem they’ll come back to later.) They settle on an old pair of Luke’s sweatpants, and one of Alex’s pale purple t-shirts. They’re in good shape, for being almost thirty years old; most importantly, they’re dry, which makes them miles better than what Reggie’s got on.

Ray helps the trembling kid pull the fresh shirt over his head. He can’t touch him, but he can hold the shirt up while Reggie slips into it. The boy’s movements are clumsy with sickness and exhaustion, weighing him down. He barely looks up while Ray coaches him, obligingly squirming out of his tank top, and lifting his arms. (He looks too skinny, Ray can’t help thinking, ribs visible against his pale chest; there’s _another_ problem for another day, and Victoria’s _pastelon_ will probably be the answer.) As soon as the shirt’s on, Reggie nestles into its softness. A tiny hum escapes him as his eyes drift shut. Something in Ray’s chest twists; he wishes, not for the first time, he were able to touch the boys, if only to brush the mess of sweat-slick hair out of Reggie’s face.

When he tries to stand up, Reggie almost collapses to the floor in a dizzy heap. Ray’s first instinct, to steady him, is thwarted when his hand passes through Reggie’s shoulder. Wincing, he takes a step back, and nods to Alex instead.

“Let’s get him inside. It’s a lot warmer there, and he’ll be more comfortable on our couch than this one.”

If Reggie can’t even stand, he’s got no chance of teleporting on his own. Alex, picking up Ray’s meaning, gives a quick nod before settling down next to his sick friend. His arm twines around Reggie’s shoulders, pulling him close. In a second, they’ve both vanished. Luke follows a heartbeat later. When Ray gets back to the house, it’s no surprise to find three ghost boys huddled on the living room couch.

Making Reggie comfortable is their first priority. Quickly, they rustle up a makeshift bed; Julie pulls the spare blankets out from the closet, while Ray gives up one of his own pillows. By the time Reggie’s tucked in, he could easily be in a hotel room at the Ritz, instead of enjoying _casa de Molina_ hospitality.

“You d-don’t — need to do this all for me,” Reggie mutters hoarsely, once all’s beginning to settle. A flush has spread across his pale cheeks — from the fever, no doubt, but Ray’d put his money on unease, too. He’s clearly not used to being the center of attention like this. “It’s probably just a — a cold or something. I can r-ride it out, and…”

“And nothing,” Ray interrupts, firm voice brokering no more arguments. Reggie’s mouth clicks shut. “If what Julie says is right, you boys shouldn’t be able to get sick at all. Until we know what’s going on, Reggie, we’re keeping an eye on this.” _And on you,_ goes unspoken… but from the way Reggie’s gaze settles on him, hesitant yet soft with trust, Ray knows they’re on the same page.

“Is there anything else we can do?” Alex asks, from where he and Luke hover anxiously by the TV.

Ray considers them for a minute before nodding. “You can keep your distance. I know it’s hard, guys, but… the last thing we need is you catching whatever this is too.”

“How can we catch it?” Luke exclaims. “We’re ghosts!”

Alex’s elbow digs into his side. _“Dude.”_

“Nice try.” Ray shakes his head… then his attention swivels to his own daughter, hovering in the doorway.

“What about me?” Julie asks softly. “How can I help?”

“You, the jury’s still out on.” Can living people catch sicknesses from ghosts? Ray isn’t sure, and he doesn’t want Julie to be guinea pig for the experiment. She needs to watch her school attendance anyways; catching whatever nasty thing Reggie’s got now wouldn’t be ideal.

The battle’s lost before it's even begun. Without warning, Reggie breaks into another round of harsh coughs. His bandmates flinch, but something in Julie’s expression settles, her jaw tightening. In a second, she’s crossed the room to kneel at Reggie’s side, a hand on his back gently coaxing him through it.

“Easy, Reggie,” she says softly. “Just try to breathe… Luke, get a glass of water. Alex, can you find a thermometer? I think we have one in the downstairs bathroom.”

Receiving direct orders seems to snap the other boys from their trance. They spring to action, with quick nods and hurried footsteps echoing through the house. Ray plants his hands on his hips, watching his daughter. A flicker of pride has sparked to life inside his chest, without permission... but the longer he watches her, the brighter it burns. Looking after sick people has never come easy to Julie — especially not after her mother, and the long, difficult months they had to endure together. In a crisis, though, Julie always knows exactly where she has to be: beside her loved ones. 

Every day, his daughter amazes him a little more. Ray can’t help shaking his head, watching as Julie gently brushes Reggie’s hair back from his face. She never hesitates to help… to _care_ about people. When did she grow up, without him even noticing?

“Are you okay?” Julie asks softly, hand lingering on the side of Reggie’s face. The poor kid slumps into her touch, eyes half-lidded and glassy. When he speaks, his voice is faint, from the pit of his throat.

“I dunno.”

“That’s okay. All you have to do is rest right now.” Julie looks up, relief flashing across her face as Luke reappears with the water. Offering him a terse smile, she takes the glass, and immediately raises it to Reggie’s lips. “Here. It’ll help your throat.”

Reggie hesitates before taking a sip. Immediately, the water seems to flicker straight through him, splashing onto the sofa. Julie lets out a yelp.

“S-sorry,” Reggie murmurs, shaking his head. “I can’t…”

The boys’ ability to eat goes in and out. They’re strongest after playing music, so Ray has begun planning big dinners after every one of their shows; it’s something special to sit around the family dinner table with three ghosts, watching the boys’ endless enthusiasm over foods they haven’t tasted in twenty-five years. That’s not all the time, though. Some days, the boys can handle food; some days, they can’t. It’s even more fickle than the visibility question. Tonight, Reggie isn’t strong enough to take even a sip of water.

Julie’s brows draw together; she accepts this with a nod, setting the glass aside, but the worry doesn’t fade from her face. “Maybe… maybe we could try a compress, or…”

“I don’t think that’ll work, Jules,” Luke says in a low voice.

“Well, what _can_ we try?”

“How about this?” Alex suddenly rematerializes in the living room, with his recovered trophy. He presents the thermometer, and Julie immediately seizes it, giving it a determined shake.

“Alright, Reggie,” she mutters, leaning towards the sick boy again. “Let’s see how warm you are.”

Reggie opens his mouth without any coaxing… but Julie has no sooner slipped the thermometer beneath his tongue than it drops straight through him, landing on the carpet with a thud.

“Oh,” says Reggie, blinking in hazy surprise.

Julie’s eyes widen. She scoops the thermometer up, and goes in for Round Two. The result is the same; the thermometer passes through Reggie the second Julie’s not there to hold it up. Even when Julie tries to hold it steady, the little instrument still fails to detect even the smallest change in temperature. 

As if Reggie isn’t there at all.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alex huffs, pressing both hands to his head as he paces the dining room floor. “Of all the times for our weird ghost powers to be acting up…”

“These aren’t even the _cool_ powers,” Luke adds glumly. “Not like Reg is poofing to Vegas, or summoning pizzas.”

“Just be glad he’s not floating.”

Ray’s brows creep up. It’s probably safer not to ask; he files the overheard exchange under _Ghost Things I’m Better Off Not Knowing About, For My Own Sanity._ (A list getting longer by the day.) Instead, he meanders back towards the living room, where Julie has curled up on the couch, fit neatly into the space beside Reggie while still allowing him room to breathe. Julie’s arms are around his shoulders. The boy’s head has dropped against hers, his breathing congested and raspy; at first glance, it seems like he’s fallen asleep, but a flicker of half-lidded eyes assures Ray he’s still awake and listening. Julie’s voice is a soft, lyrical humm, like a butterfly whispering softly against the crown of his head.

_“So if you have a minute, why don't we go...  
_ _talk about it somewhere only we know?  
_ _This could be the end of everything,  
_ _so why don't we go  
_ _somewhere only we know?”_

Ray pauses in the doorway, raising his eyebrows. Julie meets his gaze, and offers him a tiny smile. Rose used to sing that song when the kids were babies, fussing over sore gums and new teeth. He never realized Julie still remembered it.

When Julie’s singing dies out, Reggie stirs, murmuring something close to her name. Julie hushes him, allowing the sick boy to press into her side. Once Reggie is settled, his face buried against her shoulder, Julie picks up humming again. Ray tilts his head, and she gives a one-shouldered shrug back — _guess I’m staying here for a while_ — but, from the calm on her face, and the hand gently stroking Reggie’s back, she doesn’t mind.

This, Ray knows, is the sort of thing that should worry him. His Dad Alarms should be going _crazy._ He should be changing the locks on Julie’s bedroom door, and inventing ghost-proof curtains to seal up the windows. Julie is only sixteen, and no matter how long the guys have been ghosts, they’re _definitely_ still teenage boys.

If it were _Luke_ curled up beside his daughter, then Ray would be worried.

Reggie’s different, though. Maybe it’s just because Ray knows him a little better than the rest. Reggie likes to linger around the house, even when he can’t be seen or heard. He’s become Ray’s frequent cooking companion, always has surprisingly keen insights into his photography projects, and is even showing an interest in hardware, just because Ray’s taken on some DIY projects lately. Whenever Reggie’s around, the room feels a little brighter; when he can be heard, he’s an eager, friendly conversationalist. Reggie will sing Julie’s praises every chance he gets, but to Ray, it’s never sounded like anything more than admiration.

Plus, he sees the way Julie and Reggie make faces at each other across the dinner table; how they bounce around each other on stage, snicker at Internet videos and shout over video games together. There was _nothing_ romantic about the time Reggie stuck his feet in Julie’s face to distract her during Mario Cart. Ray has had to listen to Julie and Carlos bicker and bond by turns for the last eleven years; he knows how the peculiar way siblings get along.

If it were Carlos on that couch, Julie would be holding him the same way, singing the same songs. Somehow, the thought leaves Ray’s chest heavy.

“Can I stay here?” Julie asks, once Reggie’s drifted off. “I know there’s school tomorrow, but…” She nods down at the feverish boy basically using her as a pillow. “He needs me right now.”

“Tomorrow is today, _mija.”_ Ray glances at the clock, frowning. It’s nearly five in the morning. Julie has to be at school by eight, which means up by seven… he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Try to get a bit more sleep, alright? I’ll make sure you aren’t late.”

Julie’s smile is as grateful as it is fond. Conscious of the sick boy dozing against her, Ray leans down, planting a light kiss on the crown of her head. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”

He’s got a few emails to send… and appointments to reschedule. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not going to really go into Reggie’s backstory/parent issues (that’s another spiderweb to untangle in another fic), but can you TASTE the Molina family feels?
> 
> (Julie’s song is ‘Somewhere Only We Know’ — I’ve got the Lily Allen version in mind.)


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Julie and Carlos go off to school, Ray has managed to clear up his entire afternoon, as well as the upcoming weekend.  _ Family emergency _ is his excuse, and it isn’t even a lie. Most families don’t include ghosts — that’s not their fault.

Reggie is still asleep; even when Julie slipped out from under him, he didn’t stir. Frowning, Ray leans over the sick boy, taking in his flushed cheeks and sweat-slick brow. From time to time, he murmurs in his unconsciousness, face screwing up. (“That’s weird,” Alex remarked. “Even though we doze off sometimes now… we never dream.”) Reggie’s lips are chapped, his color is high, and each breath rasps in his chest.

Ray doesn’t like it one bit.

Frowning, he plants his hands on his hips, surveying the room. Helplessness is a familiar feeling, in the face of seeing a loved one suffer… but at least with Rose, there were things he could  _ do.  _ He couldn’t take away the pain of the cancer or the agony of the chemo… but he could hold her during the migraines, soothe her through the exhaustion, dote on her on her worst days. Reggie can’t enjoy breakfast in bed, though; there’s no medicine to bring his fever down, no steam to soothe his congestion, no soup to lend him strength. It’s a miracle the blanket even covers him; when Ray tried to put a cool compress on his head, it just passed right through him.

He couldn’t save Rose, but he could comfort her. For Reggie, he can’t even do that.

Ray Molina  _ hates _ feeling helpless.

There’s got to be something,  _ something… _ he paces tracks into the carpet, following the same footpath Alex left the night before. Every idea his brain comes up with is discarded as quickly as it arrives. No doctor will be able to cope with the ghost thing…  _ abuelita’s _ famous sore throat potion will be useless… there’s no way to even tell how high Reggie’s fever is, or to keep track of its progress. You can’t take a ghost’s temperature without a thermometer, can you?

…  _ can  _ you?

Ray at least tries to make an effort to understand what his kids are talking about, whenever they get stuck on a particular hobby. Sure, he’s still not positive what a  _ Voltron _ is, but for months, Julie was really into it, so Ray listened to her chatter for hours. He’s still got clumsy wool-sculptures hanging on the wall from her macramé craze; when Carlos decided he was going to create his own video game, Ray listened to him blabber on about game design for weeks on end. The point is — his understanding may be limited, but Ray tries. He really does.

And, just like he now knows what a half-hitch macramé knot is, he’s heard of the Ghostbusters thermometer.

Okay, maybe Carlos just  _ calls it  _ that, but Ray’s seen it firsthand. It’s one of the trinkets his son ordered online during his ghost-hunting craze (before they met the  _ actual  _ ghosts living in the house). A tiny stopwatch, basically, that measures temperature in the room. Carlos walked around the house with it for an entire weekend; every time he caught a stiff breeze, he shouted that the house was haunted.

Most of that stuff, according to Carlos (now an expert on the topic) is junk. But a temperature measurer is probably good for what it’s worth, and more heavy-duty than a plastic thermometer.

Ray casts a final glance at Reggie, dozing fitfully on the couch, before starting out to the garage. 

He finds the other two boys exactly how he figured they’d be — restless, worried, and unable to hold still. Alex is sitting up on the wall overlooking the garage. His entire posture is stiff with tension, legs swinging and kicking off the rocks beneath him. Luke has the basketball, and is at least trying to shoot some hoops… but every throw misses, and he hardly seems to notice.

“Hey, boys,” Ray greets, offering them a smile. Immediately, Alex leaps off the wall; both ghosts are suddenly at full attention.

“How is he?” demands Luke. “Has he gotten any better? Is he awake? Is he asking for us?”

Ray holds up his hands, and both boys go quiet. Their eyes are identically wide and earnest, bright with shared worry. Ray wishes he could offer them more than uncertainty right now… but uncertainty is all he’s got.

“Reggie’s doing fine,” he says anyways, trying to at least sound confident. “Do you guys know where Carlos put his ghost hunting stuff?”

“Uhh — I mean, yeah, the loft.” Alex tucks his hands in his pockets, shifting uneasily. “He said it was all junk.”

“That junk might help us now,” is all Ray replies.

He makes it up into the loft despite his bad knee and aching back — really, he’s getting too old for this — and quickly locates Carlos’s stash of discarded hobbies. Behind the geology set, the box of broken legos and action figures, and the old accordion… he finds what he’s looking for. The little stopwatch is buried under cheap plastic ‘Spook-Finder 3000’s and brightly colored ‘Voice From The Grave’ recorders. It seems like the only semi-professional equipment in the box — more suited to a high school science lab than the Toys section of Target. Satisfied, Ray claims his prize, and slips back out of the garage.

Luke and Alex trail him to the steps, before coming to a reluctant stop. At least they’re taking Ray’s warning to stay away seriously — no matter how much it pains them to do so. Ray makes it two steps before glancing back. Something in his heart twists at their hangdog expressions.

“I know how hard it is to worry,” he says softly. “Especially when that’s all you can do. But the last thing Reggie would want is to get either of you sick. You’re helping him right now by staying away. Even from a distance, he can feel how much you care.”

Luke bites his lip, looking down, like he’s not comfortable with the emotion flashing across his own face. Alex just meets Ray’s gaze, tranquil in his uncertainty.

“If you need any help… anything,” he says. “Call us? Please?”

Ray nods… and then, thinking on his feet, holds up the temperature reader. “Actually, can I…”

Though confused, Alex obliges, taking a step forward. For a moment, Ray’s unsure of exactly what to do. He fiddles with the instrument, managing to at least get it turned on — but from there, is at a loss. He moves the watch around Alex, above Alex… and finally, at Alex’s exasperated,  _ “oh, just go for it,” _ thrusts the thing straight through him.

Finally, a reading — 55° Fahrenheit.

“I’ve been called a little frigid,” is all Alex offers.

“Do me next, do me!” Overeager, Luke leaps up onto the bottom step, and nearly tumbles backwards when his feet slip. Ray’s instinctual grab doesn’t actually catch him, but does shove the stopwatch straight through his chest.

Luke’s reading is almost identical — a little higher than Alex. Still nowhere close to normal for a living boy, so those few degrees aren’t reassuring. “I run hot,” Luke explains with a barely suppressed grin, even as Alex rolls his eyes. “Some would say…  _ too _ hot.”

Alex cuffs him on the back of the head; Luke yelps; and Ray finds himself reconsidering those ghost-proof locks on Julie’s door.

* * *

When he returns to the house, he’s startled to find the couch empty, a mess of rumpled blankets bunched up on the floor.

For a second, he’s seized by irrational concern — Reggie’s vanished, he’s so weak the blankets just phase through him, he could be anywhere needing help and I wouldn’t know — but common sense takes over after a few deep breaths. There’s no imprint on the cushions to suggest an invisible body is sitting there. By now, Ray’s become an expert in noticing when the boys are around, even if they can’t be seen. He knows the signs, and they’re not pointing to the couch.

Instead, a round of harsh coughing summons him quickly to the kitchen. 

“Reggie,” he exclaims, rushing to the boy’s side. “What are you doing?”

That Reggie’s upright at all is a miracle, let alone that he made it this far through the house. As the coughing fit rolls through him, he braces against the counter for balance — slumped over on his elbows, because his arms can’t hold him up. His hair clings to his forehead, slick with sweat; his legs tremble, threatening to give out at any moment. As each violent cough rattles him, his entire ribcage seems to seize with it. He convulses, he chokes — as he hunches over, coughing into the countertop, he nearly smacks his head against the tile.

“Reggie, Reggie — easy.” Ray’s first instinct — to seize hold of his shoulders and soothe him through it — diverts itself at the last second. Again, he’s left helpless. All he can do is lean in, as close to Reggie as he dares; enough to be in his line of sight, when he’s able to force his eyes open. If Ray can’t touch him, at least Reggie can hopefully feel him there. “I’m right with you, okay? Deep breaths. You’re alright.”

“I’m —“ Reggie cuts off with another guttural cough, which seems to tear straight from his lungs. His entire body shakes. “I ca—“ More coughing; tears spill from the corners of his eyes. When a hand flies to his throat, all he proves capable of is tearing at the collar of his t-shirt like it’s choking him. “Can’t — breathe —“

He needs help. Ray needs to help. How? How? He can’t hug him, can’t offer water, can’t even touch his back… how do you help a ghost to breathe?

“Reggie,” he says suddenly, eyes brightening. “You don’t need to breathe. Remember?”

Reggie’s head shoots up, half-lidded eyes bright with fear. In his panic, in his pain, that fact is all too easy to forget. Breathing is more of a reflex to the boys, they’ve explained; without working lungs, they don’t  _ have _ to do it. (Luke chose to prove this by holding in a deep breath for a solid five minutes; he only broke when Julie made a face at him, and he nearly exploded, gasping and sputtering all over the kitchen. Even so — point proven.)

“Just hold your breath,” Ray urges. “Don’t let yourself cough. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

Reggie reels towards him, practically falling into his chest; Ray resists the urge to step back, not wanting the boy to pass straight through him. “Ray,” Reggie wheezes, still clutching his throat. His entire face has gone an alarming shade of cherry; tears leave glistening tracks along the sides of his face. “I can’t —“

“You’re alright,  _ mijo _ . You can do this.” In the heat of the moment, Ray doesn’t even clock the term of endearment when it slips out. “Just — deep breath in. Come on.”

He times it between Reggie’s guttural coughs, before inhaling deeply. Reggie follows his example. For a minute, he practically chokes on it — he wheezes, shoulders heaving as lingering coughs fight to force their way out of him. Ray, with his absolute lack of knowledge on ghost illness, can only hope he’s on the right track.

When Reggie’s shoulders gradually still, it’s a reassurance that yeah, he was. Ray exhales a sigh of relief; thankfully, Reggie doesn’t do the same.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, keeping his voice low for Reggie’s benefit. “Okay?”

“Okay,” answers Reggie in a small voice. He sounds like he’s been gargling glass; Ray winces.

“You shouldn’t be moving around.”

“Sorry…” Reggie glances around the kitchen, his hazy gaze taking in very little. “I just. I thought I heard…”

Ray tilts his head, subconsciously leaning a bit close when Reggie sways on his feet. He doesn’t push, waiting the boy’s fever fog out. After a moment, Reggie turns to him, brows knit tight together. “There’s not a little boy here, is there?”

“No, Reggie,” Ray answers. “There is no little boy.”

Reggie accepts those with a tranquil nod, slumping more heavily against the countertop. He doesn’t look the least surprised… just a bit disappointed. “I figured that. Couldn’t be.” His gaze lingers in the doorway for a long moment, before his eyes flutter shut. Ray gives him time. When they open again, he meets Ray’s gaze head on, remarkably lucid. “I think I’m seeing things.”

“That’s alright, buddy,” Ray replies, shaking his head. When he reaches an arm out, he’s careful not to actually touch Reggie; his hand just lingers close to the boy’s shoulder, urging him to walk with him. “It’s just the fever. Sometimes it happens… the last time Julie had strep throat, she was seeing birdies on the ceiling.”

Reggie chuckles softly, a painful sound. He takes one step, then another, still bracing himself against the counter. For a minute, Ray’s afraid he really will have to call the other boys to help… but Reggie manages to find his feet, and stumbles away from the counter after a moment. Together, side by side, he and Ray walk back towards the couch.

“It’s so nice of you to do all this for me,” Reggie says as he settles back down. “Really — really nice. You don’t have to… I mean.” Looking up at Ray seems to daunt him; he lowers his gaze, picking at a stray strand in the fluffy blanket covering him. “I don’t wanna be a problem. Didn’t you have work?”

“No appointments today,” Ray replies. It’s the truth — now. Reggie, who usually has his work schedule memorized better than Ray himself, just accepts this with a hazy nod. Thankfully, now isn’t the time for questions.

“And you’re not a problem, Reggie,” Ray can’t help adding — because something in his heart breaks for the quiet resignation in his eyes, the hint of shame. It all suggests a kid who isn’t used to being looked after when he’s sick — parents who were too busy, maybe, or didn’t care enough. Ray won’t condemn a situation he doesn’t know, but the unease in Reggie’s face says enough; if he can settle it in any way, he wants to. “So long as you boys are here… you get the Molina Home Healthcare plan. Just like anybody else.”

Reggie offers a weak smile. “No chicken soup or foot rubs, I guess.”

_ “Mijo,  _ we're Puerto Rican. We can do a lot better than chicken soup.”

There’s that nickname again — and this time, they both notice. Reggie’s already blotchy cheeks turn an even darker red; he lowers his head, not quickly enough to hide a smile. Ray manages not to show his own surprise — in a way, because it doesn’t feel strange at all. He’s only ever called his own son  _ mijo _ before, but with Reggie it slips out naturally.

“Maybe none of those things,” Ray agrees, moving past the bump in the road. He left Reggie alone for a reason, after all. “But we do like to take temperatures around here.”

Reggie lifts his head again, brows furrowed; the bewilderment doesn’t fade from his face when he registers the instrument in Ray’s hand. “Is that… a watch?”

“It’s a Ghostbuster thermometer,” Ray replies with a straight face — because he actually doesn’t  _ know _ what it’s called, and Carlos has a gift with names. “It should give us a few answers. Is it alright if I take your temperature?” He mimes thrusting the tool through his own chest, just to show Reggie how it’s done. The boy hesitates a moment, uncertainty plain on his face… but finally, he nods.

Ray makes it quick — sticking his hand through the boys feels unnatural anyways, even if they don’t seem to mind it. When he pulls back the thermometer, his brows rise.

“That’s interesting.”

“What?” asks Reggie, tilting unsteadily forward to catch a glimpse.

In sharp contrast to the other boys’ temperatures, the watch reads a vivid 96°. Not alarming for a human, under most circumstances, but…

Ray’s  _ pretty _ sure a forty degree fever is cause for concern.

When his gaze flickers to Reggie’s curious, fever-bright gaze, though, something in his chest tightens. He can’t tell him; what good will it do, anyways? Knowing he’s sick is enough; they don’t know  _ how _ sick.

Instead, Ray just smiles, laying his hand on the blanket, close to Reggie’s own. It’s the best he can offer. “Get some rest,” he urges. “You’ll feel better the sooner you sleep it off,  _ mijo. _ ”

This time, the nickname doesn’t surprise either of them.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Julie returns from school, the house is quiet. Under Ray’s supervision, Reggie hasn’t run off chasing any more ghosts. Instead, he’s sunk into exhaustion, fueled by the fever burning through him. The few times Ray is able to stir him awake for a temperature check, he’s hazy, half-present and half-somewhere else; eventually, Ray stops waking him. His temperature never changes — Reggie is still way too warm.

As soon as Julie steps through the door, though, he ambushed her — with a regular, human thermometer. “Dad,” she complains, trying to squirm away. “I’m fine! See? Not even a sniffle.”

Ray weighs her, seeking out all the telltale signs of Julie deflection — she’s never been a good liar, gets that straight from her father — but can find none. Her temperature is normal; she doesn’t show any signs of coming down with whatever Reggie’s got. Sue him if looking after a sick kid all day has predisposed him to worrying.

“How are things?” Julie asks, voice soft and earnest.

Ray offers a tight smile. “Sick ghosts aren’t too different from sick kids.” He considers it. “Well. A little different.”

As she sets her backpack down on its usual chair, Julie cranes on her tiptoes to see into the living room. Her brows furrow at the sight of Reggie, bunched up in his blankets. When she looks towards him, Ray just nods. It’s not as if he could keep Julie away, even if he tried. 

Her footsteps are silent as she approaches the couch, immediately sinking to her knees beside it. One hand finds Reggie’s brow, smoothing his hair back. The touch is so casual, so easy. Reggie unconsciously leans into it, and something twists in Ray’s gut at the idea that he’s been craving it all along. He can keep an eye on Reggie, but ultimately, that’s all he can do; in so many ways, the poor kid is out of reach. For him, at least… but not for Julie.

“Dad, he’s still really warm,” Julie says, frowning as she looks up at him. “Is there anything we can do?”

Before Ray can answer, Reggie suddenly begins to stir, letting out a whimper.

“Reggie?” Julie’s brows shoot up. “Are you —”

Reggie’s fists twist around his fluffy blanket, face screwing up; he tries to turn into the side of the couch, as though to hide himself, but his blankets weigh him down. He lets out another sound, closer to a whine, like an animal in distress. When Julie looks up at her father, she’s equally alarmed.

“Is he having a nightmare?”

“I think he’s had a few,” Ray confirms, dropping into a crouch at her side. (God help his poor knees.) “He wakes himself up, but won’t talk about them. I tried.”

Julie hesitates for a moment before laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Reggie,” she says, soft but insistent. “Reggie, come on… it’s okay. You’re only dreaming.”

Maybe it’s her touch, or her tone, but it does the trick. Reggie jerks awake with a start, eyes flying open. On instinct, he gasps; this sets off another round of coughing, nowhere near as violent as the last. Julie helps him sit up, rubbing his back as he doubles in on himself, harsh coughs quaking his thin frame. Even after he’s gone silent, he doesn’t stop trembling; his breaths are harsh and uneven, raw with something more than pain.

“It’s okay, Reggie,” Ray says softly. “You’re safe now.”

“We’re right here with you,” Julie adds… and slowly, the sick boy’s gaze is coaxed up to her. His eyes are hollow, fever-glazed and unfocused. They drift between Julie and Ray without seeing them at all. His expression is a mask of fear, barely contained panic drawing tears to his eyes.

“What’s goin’ on?” Ray immediately picks up the slur in his voice. He sounds hazier than before, adrift at sea, too far out for them to reach. Reggie sways in his upright position, leaning back as if frightened of them. “Where — I — I thought —“

Tears threaten to spill down his fever-burned cheeks. Each breath is raw, desperate.

“A bad dream, Reggie,” Julie says again. “That’s all it was.”

Slowly, she reaches out, laying a hand on his arm. Reggie registers the touch before he really registers her; his gaze focuses, as much as it can. Finally, recognition. “Julie,” he murmurs, voice heavy with relief. “Are— are you okay?”

Julie can’t help laughing. “Yeah, Reg,” she replies. “I’m fine. You’re the one we’re all worried about right now.” 

Carefully, she lifts herself up, finding a seat on the couch beside him. Reggie is still trembling as he slumps against her shoulder, craving whatever contact she can offer. Julie braces his weight, hand slowly moving up and down his shoulder, like soothing a distressed child. Julie used to get nightmares, Ray recalls — the nasty, wake-up-screaming ones, when she was really little — and Rose would do the same thing for her. Talking helps too — distracting Reggie always seems like the way to go— so she keeps up a quiet stream of conversation as he settles down. “The guys are driving themselves crazy worrying about you. Alex is looking for Willie, to find out if ghost sicknesses are a thing. Luke kept popping into school today, giving me updates… he was hiding in my locker after fifth period, and when he stuck his head out, I almost had a heart attack! You know... I think he was checking up on me? Probably wanted to make sure I didn’t catch whatever you’ve got. You know how he worries.”

Reggie snorts, head hanging low. His amusement quickly fades to unease. Slowly, his face scrunches up, brows drawing together. “Julie… ‘M I still stick?”

“Yeah, Reggie.”

“I feel _terrible…_ ” He shudders with a few suppressed coughs, seeming to take Ray’s advice about not breathing to heart once again. Even so, he can’t help a tiny moan. “My head hurts so bad… and it’s hot. S’so hot, Julie… do you feel okay?”

“Reggie, I’m fine.” Worry is plain on her face, but Julie manages to keep her voice clear of it. As Reggie’s head slowly slumps against her shoulder — holding it up demands energy he doesn’t have — she looks to her father for help.

Ray has already stripped away one of the blankets, leaving Reggie with nothing but his soft one for comfort. Anything to cool him down, to bring him back to earth a bit… but without medicine, without anything to hydrate him with, Ray doesn’t know what else can be done.

“I wanna see my mom,” Reggie slurs into Julie’s shoulder, eyes screwed shut. “She used to give me ice cream when I was sick… think I was dreaming about her.”

 _What do we do?_ Julie mouths over the crown of Reggie’s head. It’s the question of the year. Maybe dads are supposed to have all the answers, but in the moment, Ray flounders.

What’s the best way to break a fever? No, none of the best ways will work. What’s... a _possible_ way?

It comes to him all at once — an offhand comment from Victoria, _a good bath works miracles for everything._ Maybe ghosts are a bit beyond the point of miracles, but it’s worth a shot.

“Keep an eye on him for a few minutes, okay, honey? I’ll be right back.”

He hates leaving Julie alone, but Reggie is too out of it to cause much trouble. Ray takes the stairs two at a time; he’s never set a bath so quickly in his life. No bubbles, only a little bit of soap… and the water is somewhere between mild and cool. Nothing too cold; a shock to Reggie’s system now won’t do anyone any good.

When he gets back downstairs, Reggie’s head is in Julie’s lap. Tracks of tears glisten on his cheeks — but he doesn’t seem to be crying anymore. This has everything to do with Julie. Nimble fingers run steadily through his hair, combing through the dark strands; her voice is low and soothing, covering Reggie like a blanket. “I miss my mom too… every single day. Especially when I’m sick, because… that’s when you need the people you love the most. Not having them with you… I think, makes being sick even worse than it has to be. Because all you want is familiarity, and… without even realizing it, you find yourself… waiting and waiting for what you’ve always known.” A tiny smile crosses her lips — not tentative, in the way she so often is while remembering, only wistful. “For me, it’s my mom’s _sopa de fideo_. It could knock a cold out of you in a day!”

Reggie huffs a laugh into her leg. “My mom and I… used to spend sick days in her bed, watching old shows. She said it was good to laugh when you felt your worst. _The Brady Bunch, Happy Days_ … I always liked the _Addams Family_.”

Julie laughs softly. When her fingers twist through Reggie’s hair, his eyes flutter shut.

“I know how hard it is to lose that, Reggie. And... I know how much you miss it. But no matter how far away they are, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve talked to them, or said you loved them… your family will always be with you. People we love never really leave our hearts. Love… leaves an impression, like footprints in the snow. No matter how much time passes, it never melts away.”

Reggie is quiet for a long moment, his eyes half-open; finally, he breathes out a sigh. “Let’s just talk about snow. That’s nice,” he mutters. “Used to love the snow. It’s been _forever_ since I’ve seen snow.”

“Is it as nice as it is in movies?”

“Better.” A tiny smile flickers across his face. “How ‘bout… I take you one day? We’ll find somewhere with… mountains of snow, enough that we can barely walk through it.”

“Snow over our heads,” Julie chimes eagerly.

“Over _your_ head, easy.”

“Hey!” But he wins a laugh from her, and Reggie looks pleased.

“We can throw ourselves down and sink into it… feel the bite of the cold right down to our bones…” As his mind drifts, voice going with it, he can’t help chuckling. “I’ll teach you to make a killer snow angel.”

“There’s a strategy?”

“Oh yeah. You’ve gotta get the wing shape just right…” His words trail off, eyes squeezing shut again. When he exhales, the breath seems to rattle in his lungs. “I’d love some snow right now.”

“How about the next best thing?” Ray speaks up from the doorway. Julie startles — she clearly didn’t realize he’d returned — but Reggie just turns a hazy smile on him.

“Reggie,” says Ray, stepping forward. “Let's get you cooled down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story has an outline now!! a plot!! a planned ending!! it’s an actual, legitimate multi-chapter fic! be proud of me, y’all.


	6. Chapter 6

They manage to get Reggie up the stairs, after a bit of trial-and-error. He’s nowhere near strong enough to hold himself up, but apparently Julie’s been lifting weights in her free time, because she supports him all the way to the top. 

By the time they reach the bathroom, steam is already leaking into the hallway from the crack beneath the door. Ray smiles grimly to himself as he pushes it open. Sure enough, the bath is full — and the shower, which he left on before slipping back downstairs, has filled the entire room with dewy condensation. Warm, but not hot; comfortable, not unbearable. As soon as Reggie steps inside, a blanket of tranquility settles over him.

“A bath?” he murmurs. “Oh man… baths are the best.” He glances around, taking in the fogged up mirror — without a flicker of his non-existent reflection, of course. “I’m allowed to breathe now, right, Ray?” he asks, a hint of wryness in his voice. 

Ray chuckles. “Yes, Reggie. Deep breaths. Try to hold some of the steam in, if it helps — can you feel it at all?”

“Yeah — yeah, I can feel it.” Reggie’s eyes drift shut as he breathes, in and out, allowing the humid air to soothe his lungs. Without warning, he sways… but Julie’s by his side to steady him. 

“One victory for the books,” Ray declares, satisfied. “We’ll have this fever kicked before you know it, Reggie. Don’t worry.” He pulls aside the bath curtain, revealing the tub, and bends to shut off the water. (The last thing they need is a water bill more expensive than Julie’s entire music program tuition.) “Let's cool you down a bit.”

Surprise flickers across Reggie’s face, followed on its heels by bemusement. He glances between the bath and Ray, before finally turning to the person holding him up. “Okay. Uhh…” His fever isn’t strong enough to hide the flush rising to his cheeks. “Julie. You gotta get out.”

“What?” Julie’s brows furrow. “Why?”

“Because! Because —“ Reggie gestures vaguely to the tub, then himself. “Because!”

“I can help!”

“Nope. Really can’t,” says Reggie.

“ _ Really _ can’t,” agrees Ray.

Outnumbered, Julie swivels between her friend and her father, taking in their equally stubborn stares. Something in them makes her reconsider the situation. “Yeah, okay, you’ve got a point. It’d be weird.”

“Way too weird,” agrees Reggie, shuddering.

Ray tests the water with his hand and offers his daughter a tiny smile. “I can take it from here, Julie, don’t worry. Why don’t you… go update the guys?”

As always, Julie seizes on any chance to be useful. She offers Reggie one last shoulder squeeze, taking comfort in the weak smile he spares her, before slipping out the bathroom door. “If you need anything, just yell, okay?”

Ray and Reggie offer twin thumbs up.

Then the door closes, and they’re left alone. Ray exhales in the humid air; as his full attention turns back on the sick boy, he can’t help frowning. Reggie’s drawn into himself even more, head down, not meeting his gaze. His fever-bright eyes dance around the bathroom, suddenly taking a lot of interest in the pattern of their floor tiles. When Ray clears his throat, Reggie practically jumps.

“When you’re ready. We’ve got time,” offers Ray, with a tiny smile. (Not too much time — he’s due to pick up Carlos from baseball practice in an hour — but time enough.) “We can always get you new clothes if you need them, too.”

“That’s…” Reggie’s voice trails off, hands finding the pockets of Luke’s throwaway sweats. He looks uneasy in them, like he’s not used to wearing anyone else’s things. “That’d be nice. Now that these are all… sweaty and gross, I dunno how to give them back to the guys…”

The longer he stands unsupported, the less steady he looks on his feet. As he begins to sway, Ray’s mind flashes back to driving the Venture freeway during a hurricane, as the palm trees alongside the road danced and bowed to the storm's mercy. A strong wind could knock Reggie off his feet. When he reaches out to steady himself against the kitchen sink, he nearly tumbles; instead of meeting solid marble, his hand passes straight through the countertop.

“Oh man,” Reggie mutters, dazed.

Something strange seems to happen the longer he stands there. It seems like a trick of the light — the bathroom fluorescents do nothing to flatter anyone, and they catch the mirror in a way that’s effortlessly distracting, disorienting. Ray nearly imagines that’s  _ all _ it is — Reggie’s reflection in the mirror, staring back at him — until he remembers. Ghosts don’t have reflections. 

He shouldn’t be able to see the mirror while looking straight at Reggie.

More like, looking …  _ through _ Reggie.

A blink, another blink — and the lights still glare in his eyes, and the mirror is still empty, and Ray can see the faucet through Reggie’s chest. With shaking hands, Reggie pulls the borrowed t-shirt over his head, draping it on top of the sink. His skin is always pale; now, it’s literally translucent. As Reggie turns, the bathroom cabinet is visible beyond him. Ray can read the embroidery on Julie’s favorite towel through Reggie’s bare shoulders.

“Ray,” says Reggie, a note of trepidation in his voice. “Is… everything okay?”

Ray catches his gaze, and immediately schools his face into something unreadable. It comes easy — after Rose, after “staying strong” for so long he forgot how to be anything else. Wearing a mask and pretending things are alright comes easy to him, now. So does locking bad news away, saying nothing when speaking it out loud won’t help anyone.

“Sure, Reggie,” he replies calmly. A tension in Reggie’s shoulders relaxes, melts away. 

It takes real effort not to stare at the way he moves — as though watching an actual hologram. He’s fuzzy at the edges, like a camera out of focus. Shadows flicker  _ through, _ rather than across him. When Reggie comes to stand at the edge of the bath, he sways again. Ray doesn’t even try to steady him. There’s no question of touching someone who’s barely there.

He steps carefully into the tub, still in his borrowed sweats, and water doesn’t so much as ripple around him. For a moment, Ray imagines this was all for nothing, if Reggie can’t even  _ feel _ the bath… but the boy immediately sighs, sinking down low, and a weight lifts off of Ray’s chest.

“It’s so cool,” Reggie murmurs, half-open eyes fluttering. “Like… poofing to Antarctica, and making friends with the polar bears. Yeah, this… this is nice.”

He sounds clearer now, breaths even and deep. Even his throat is soothed by the steam, losing the rasp that made his words as painful to hear as to speak. A tiny smile flickers across Reggie’s face as he sinks up to his chin in the water, letting it submerge him completely.

“Hey, hey. I don’t know if ghosts can drown, but let’s not test the theory, alright?”

Reluctantly, Reggie sits up again. He looks better, for all it’s worth — his color is beginning to go down, the violent flush fading from his cheeks. Had Ray thought to bring the thermometer in with them, he’d check Reggie’s temperature right here… but all he can do is judge by looks, and it certainly  _ looks _ like his fever has gone down.

Considering he can still see the water ripple through Reggie’s chest, though, Ray isn’t reassured.

“How are you feeling now?” he asks gently. Reggie tilts his head to look up at him, past a cascade of dripping black hair, and raises a hand to slick the mess back.

“It’s… hard to tell,” he replies quietly. “Weird. I feel… I don’t know. It’s nice to be in the water, but I almost feel like I’m going to drift away.”

Ray’s brows furrow. He’s never been great with metaphors. “Well, what hurts?”

Reggie’s hand drifts to his throat, but he shakes his head just as quickly. Despite being intangible, stray droplets still fly from his hair, spattering Ray’s grey t-shirt. Reggie doesn’t notice.

“It’s not hurt, so much as… sick. I just feel so strange.” He clears his throat, rubbing a hand over his chest, right where his heart ought to beat. “Like I’m not even here.”

“That’s probably the fever talking. It does funny things to your head.”

“Yeah... I guess that’s all it is.” Reggie is still listless, though; without the fever flush, his skin has gone the color of the water, as milky as it is transparent. Even his face is going fuzzy now, the intricacies of his expression starting to fade. The photographer in Ray yearns to adjust the lens, to focus on the knit between Reggie’s brows, the cracks in his lips and fever-brightness in his grey eyes… but the more time passes, as he sits there soaking in the cool water, the more he seems to lose definition. 

When the boys vanish — as they do often do — it happens all at once. One second, they’re there; the next, they’re gone. Sometimes Ray can still hear them after they’ve disappeared. Other times, they simply pop out, like they never existed at all.  _ This _ is new, this — fading, this fizzling. It’s one thing for Reggie to vanish when Ray turns his back… and another to watch him dissolve, right before his eyes, while he can do nothing to help.

Maybe he should call Julie… or one of the other boys. Call  _ someone _ who might be able to help, because if Reggie vanishes completely…

Ray feels queasy at the thought. If he vanishes, who’s to say when — or  _ if _ — he’ll become visible again?

“Alright,” he says instead, derailing this train of thought before it can pick up steam. He moves to stand, feeling Reggie’s curious eyes follow him. “That’s enough cold water for now. Last thing we need is you actually catching a chill.”

Reggie pouts, but pulls himself from the water anyways. He’s steadier on his feet now than he was before, eyes focused. He reaches out automatically for Ray’s help getting out of the tub, remembering himself a second too late. Sheepishly, Reggie pulls his hand back. His shoulder passes through the shower curtain as he steps out, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I feel better,” he says. Even his voice sounds far away — like Ray’s hearing it from the other end of a tunnel, though Reggie’s right next to him.

“Good. That’s good.” He doesn’t have a lot of time. “I’ll go find you a fresh pair of sweatpants. Do you want a clean shirt too?”

“Yeah… that’d be nice.” Reggie turns, but Ray can’t make out his expression; he’s too faint, more of a shadow than a person now. The only clear thing are his eyes — always so bright, always so earnest — and Ray latches onto them, determined not to let the poor kid realize anything’s wrong. 

“Ray,” Reggie says softly. Ray has to focus to make out the words, but Reggie’s voice — heavy with sorrow, small in pain — comes through loud and clear. He feels, rather than hears them, like an echo resounding inside his chest. “I’m... really scared. I want to stay here with you guys… I don’t want to float away.”

An iron fist has Ray’s chest in a vice grip, and won’t let up until his ribs have turned to dust. Somehow, he still finds the strength to smile.

“It’s alright,  _ mijo,” _ he says. “We won’t let you.”

Before his eyes, the last of Reggie fades out, like he was never there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see, the DOWNSIDE to accidentally adopting a ghost kid is, sometimes they just. poof out of existence. teenagers! always something with them, amirite?
> 
> next chapter features more of Julie and the boys, because a band circle is badly needed in these trying times.


	7. Chapter 7

Her dad catches her halfway up the stairs, a basket of laundry balanced against her chest, Julie tilts precariously, trying to sidestep him before clean garments can go spilling everywhere; a hand on her arm steadies both the basket and her.

“Can we find a clean shirt for Reggie? I found some old pants that should fit him.” He holds up a blue flannel pair of pajama pants, a mottled tear in one knee; Reggie will probably appreciate the punk aesthetic. Julie lowers her laundry basket. It seems silly to run out to the studio and beg the other guys for clothes, when she’s got a whole load of them on hand. She and Reggie aren’t  _ too _ far from the same size, and given her fondness for oversized sweatshirts…

“I’ve got just the thing,” she declares. With a bit of maneuvering, Julie fishes a sweatshirt — dark grey, with four cartoon dinosaurs of different species and colors dancing across the fabric — from the pile. Holding it up for her dad’s inspection, she’s reassured by his smile.

It doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and that’s the moment she  _ knows _ something’s wrong. 

“What is it?” she asks, setting the basket down at the top of the stairs. Her father’s hand doesn’t leave her arm; it only tightens.

By the time he’s finished explaining what happened, a deep unease lingers in Julie’s gut. First, Reggie going transparent in front of Carlos’s eyes… and now, fading away completely for her Dad. None of the other boys have done the same thing, so it’s got to be connected with… whatever’s burning Reggie up from the inside out. Frowning, she accepts the pajama pants from her Dad, trying and failing to summon a smile for him. He looks worried enough, without her letting on her own anxieties. That won’t do anyone any good… especially Reggie.

“I’ll bring these to him,” she promises, squeezing her Dad’s hand. “And I can handle things from here for a little while. Go pick up Carlos… take a breather.”

She doesn’t want to say there’s nothing more for her dad to do; from the look on his face, he knows it.

Somehow, this pushes Julie enough to finally summon confidence she doesn’t feel. “He’s going to be okay, Dad,” she says, with a determined smile.

Her Dad knows her too well… but the lines between his brows smooth out, just a little, and Julie takes it as a win.

* * *

“Reg, you  _ know _ he didn’t mean it. He was super torn up as soon as it happened!”

“I know,” Reggie concedes petulantly, his grip on her arm tightening.

Julie sighs, and focuses on the manageable — making it downstairs in one piece. She can’t erase the frown from Reggie’s face. She can’t soothe his disappointment over suddenly going invisible in front of her father’s eyes —  _ without even a warning,  _ he exclaimed, _ I just kept  _ talking _ at him like an idiot, thinking ‘oh, Ray’s got a lot on his mind’, and then he  _ walked out on me — and she can’t make him steady on his feet again. She  _ can _ get them both downstairs without any broken bones. Today, Julie will take any small victories she can get.

They finally reach the bottom. Before Reggie can set his course, Julie turns him towards the living room. He sighs — but, at her firm nudge, starts back towards the couch.

Julie’s got sympathy for him. Being sick is  _ never _ fun. Being too sluggish to do anything but lie there, too sore to talk to anybody, too gross to see your friends… that  _ alone _ takes it out of you, nevermind feeling your absolute worst. Even Carlos, who’s more than happy to lay around in bed watching YouTube videos all day, gets antsy when he’s sick. Sometimes, laying around can be  _ worse _ than coughing fits and congestion.

What Reggie needs most is a distraction. From his sickness, his restlessness, and his mood. Thankfully, Julie’s come prepared.

“What are we feeling — Netflix?” She flops down on the couch beside him, immediately claiming a fraction of the fluffy blanket for herself. “Or Disney+? I don’t know if we’ve still got Amazon Prime, but we finished the last season of _Brooklynn 99_ anyways, didn’t we?”

Reggie’s quiet for a minute — long enough that she glances over, just to make sure he’s still here on earth — before humming agreement. “Yeah, last week. We just started the, uhh, the one with the roommates…” He trails off. Julie’s hand twitches for the Netflix button, content on watching  _ New Girl, _ before Reggie pipes up again in a smaller voice. “But I’d actually kind of like Disney? If that’s okay.”

“Sure,” she replies, flashing him a smile. It’s Reggie’s sick day; whatever he wants, he’ll get. “Got a movie in mind?”

In lieu of an answer, Reggie quietly hums a tune. Julie recognizes it in a second; he wouldn’t stop singing the song for days, after she showed the boys  _ Finding Nemo _ for the first time. “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…” she murmurs along, searching out her friend’s choice under the Pixar tab.

Once the movie has begun, they both start to settle in. There’s something about Disney and Pixar that Reggie just loves; they always seem to put him at ease, bringing a tiny smile to his lips, and today is no exception. A long sigh escapes him as he snuggles up against Julie’s side, head coming to rest on her arm. Julie tucks her legs beneath her, leaning into Reggie and the blanket he’s hoarding. He doesn’t burn to touch anymore, which is a good sign; his hair is a mess, damp from the bath; by the time Nemo’s waking up for his first day of school, Julie’s fingers are twisted in Reggie’s hair, gently combing through the strands. Usually, he loves this; tonight, he barely even reacts.

“You still with me?” she murmurs over the noise of the movie. Reggie just hums.

Neither of them notice when they’re no longer alone, until two tentative faces peer out from the doorway. The guys have long since lost the ability to surprise Julie by popping up where they shouldn’t be, though; she just smiles, waving Luke and Alex over.  _ We’re watching Nemo,  _ she mouths, gesturing to the screen. When Alex raises his brows in question, she just grins.  _ Of course _ they’re welcome.

Luke, never ashamed to make a nuisance of himself, promptly dives over the back of the adjacent sofa. “Alright, Nemo? Sticking with the classics, way to go.”

_Finding Nemo_ came out in 2003, so to the guys, it may as well be brand new — but Julie just rolls her eyes, biting back a smile at his typical Lukeish confidence. Alex steps around the couch, like a normal person; he appraises Luke’s body taking up the entire sofa before sighing and settling down on the ground. “How much did we miss?” he asks, stealing a cushion out from under Luke’s feet for himself.

“Nemo’s gonna touch the butt,” Reggie murmurs. His voice is listless, but real pleasure shines in his face. 

“Don’t do it, little dude! Make good choices!”

Alex swats at Luke with his pillow, and Reggie chuckles into Julie’s shoulder. Something warm fills Julie’s chest; it’s comfortable, and reassuring, and utterly hopeful. The boys can’t stand being separated, Julie knows; having his friends back might just be the thing Reggie needs to get better. 

As the movie goes on, Reggie does seem to gain a second wind. At least, he’s more responsive, a little more animated. Luke’s running commentary on the film _(of course_ he’s a talker during movies) wins a few real smiles from him, even a laugh. It helps that they’ve all seen the movie before, so there’s no real issue talking over it. After a while, the boys become more interesting to watch than Nemo’s adventures.

“Dude, if you kick me in the head again —“ Alex’s warning is laced with danger.

“Move, then, you’re right near my feet.”

“Is that what that smell is? I was right, something  _ did _ die.” Just for that, Alex gets another sneaker to the head; immediately, he rounds on Luke, seizing his ankle to drag him off of the couch.

Julie hushes them passionately. The boys sheepishly pull apart, shamed into playing nice… for the next ten minutes, anyways. With a roll of her eyes, Julie glances back at Reggie, who’s tilted his head to watch the scuffle.

“Next movie night, they’re not invited,” she declares quietly.

“It’s not that bad. I like it.” He plays with the blanket absently, fingers scratching over the knitted pattern. “Luke likes to be around people when they’re sick.”

“It’s called spreading the love, Reg,” Luke says.

“Spreading something, alright,” mutters Alex.

“I don’t catch things. I don’t get sick! How many times have we proven this?”

“Great Chicken Pox Debacle of ‘86,” chimes Reggie, not even looking away from the screen.

Julie’s eyebrows creep up. She turns a curious gaze on Luke, challenging him to elaborate. Luke chuckles, swinging his feet over the side of the sofa — she’s told him to get his shoes off the pillows ten times — and rubbing his jaw.

“Reggie got chicken pox when we were kids. I was so upset we couldn’t hang together that I showed up at his house and made him share all his sick germs with me.” 

“My mom brought my favorite ice cream, and you put  _ my spoon _ in your mouth —“

“For the cause, Reg!”

“You could have just asked me to cough on you! That was my  _ ice cream!” _

Luke’s smile turns rueful. “Yeah, except I ended up infecting, like, half our third grade class... my Mom got a lot of angry phone calls.”

“Still worth it, though,” Reggie declares, lazily stretching out a hand. He and Luke high five like it’s muscle memory. 

From the floor, Alex rolls his eyes. “I am  _ so _ glad I didn’t know you guys when we were kids.”

“Because you were a real man when we were thirteen, Alex, right?”

“My growth spurt hadn’t happened yet!”

“Neither had your voice drop, dude.” Luke snickers, curling into himself when Alex aims a kick at him. “This guy sounded like Mickey Mouse for a solid…  _ years _ . It was  _ years, _ dude. He’d be talking totally fine, then all of a sudden, just —“ He launches into a downright painful imitation of the mouse in question, mimicking a prepubescent voice crack. “ _ Oh, boy!  _ Hee hee!”

Julie groans, burying her face in the crown of Reggie’s head to hide her laughter. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that Luke shouldn’t be allowed to do impressions (unless it’s Shaggy or Michael Jackson, both  _ scarily _ accurate — especially when he sings them). Reggie is the uncrowned impression king in their group, and Julie looks to him now for mercy. “Come on, Reg, show him how it’s done. You’ve got a good Mouse voice.”

Reggie doesn’t reply.

Julie sits up straighter, turning to look at him. “Reggie?”

Alex moves too, as the silence stretches a second too long. He inches across the carpet, laying a hand on Reggie’s knee once he’s close enough to touch. “Hey, Reg,” he says softly. In the dim light, his gaze is piercing, boring into their sick friend. “You okay, buddy?”

It takes too long for Reggie to stir, prying his eyes open to blink back at Alex. He doesn’t look so clear anymore. “No… really not.” His words slur around a tongue that seems reluctant to cooperate with him. “The room’s spinning. There’s a drum pounding in my head, an’… an’ the TVs are too bright.”

“There’s only one TV, man,” Luke pipes up.

Reggie’s brows furrow. “I see three.”

“Ooooh-hoo-hoo—  _ okay _ .” The rictus smile on Alex’s face barely masks his panic. “That’s. Not great. Maybe we’ve had enough aquarium adventures for one night.”

Julie’s quick to switch off the TV, before tossing the remote aside. Suddenly, they are left in darkness. This is worse than the glaring blue light of the screen. At least then she could make out the details in Reggie’s expression, the furrow in his brow or the frown on his lips. Thrust into blackness, Julie can’t see anything at all — only the faint silhouettes of her boys.

Luke’s already scrambling for a light. Julie’s hand finds Alex’s shoulder, gripping him in reassurance, as she eases herself into an upright position without jarring Reggie too much. Even with her caution, he lets out a groan. 

“Don’t go, Julie.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Alex assures him. “None of us. We’re right here with you, Reg—“

His words cut off — like the flick of a light switch as Luke finds it, casting the room into sudden brightness. Julie’s sharp inhale fills the silence.

They might be here… but Reggie isn’t.

Not really. Not  _ right _ . His shape is still visible beneath the blanket; Julie can trace the outline of his arms curled around him, his legs sprawling. But where his head and shoulders peek out from beneath the blankets…

“You see it too, right?” she says aloud, unnecessarily. The look on Alex’s face says it all. When Julie swivels towards Luke — for bravado, reassurance, anything — he’s  _ gaping _ , like a deer who’s just seen his buddy mowed down on the highway.

“What?” Reggie takes in their synchronized shock a minute too late, stirring. “What’s the matter?”

“Reg…” Alex goes to touch Reggie again. His hand passes straight through his suddenly-transparent shoulder.

Julie gasps again, her own hand flying to her lips. Alex draws back like he’s been electrocuted. If Reggie noticed, if he felt it, he doesn’t let on — just keeps staring between them in bewilderment, his gaze unfocused.

“This is making me dizzy,” he mutters. “Guys, what — what’s going on?”

Julie can see the pattern on the quilt behind Reggie, straight through his chest. Her dinosaur hoodie has gone see-through with him; the strands of hair she was playing with only minutes ago now look hazy, like they’re fading out at the edges.

“Reggie,” she breathes, reaching out slowly. Her hand trembles; whatever she expects, it’s impossible to say, but the feeling of Reggie’s cheek against her palm is such a shock, she almost cries out.  _ (She can still touch him, she can still feel him, he’s  _ **_still here_ ** _ —) _

Reggie doesn’t lean into her touch this time. Something in Julie’s expression scares him; he pulls away, falling back against the arm of the couch.

“Guys?” He doesn’t notice the pillow phased straight through his chest. His voice shakes, pitching high and uncertain. When he tries to laugh, it sounds more like a whimper. “You're freaking me out, what’s — what’s going on?”

With Luke still paralyzed by the light switch, Alex is the one to bite the bullet. Tentatively, he reaches out, dread shadowing his eyes. He knows what to expect — exactly what will happen when he lays a hand over Reggie’s own.

Staring at his fingers phased straight through his friends — as if one of them isn’t there at all — Alex exhales shakily.

“Maybe you can tell us, Reg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys lol why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost, you _are_ ghosts


	8. Chapter 8

No one wants to leave him alone after that, but they don’t have a choice. Alex suddenly shoots to his feet, sharp and jerky like a marionette; his eyes burn with unspoken urgency, darting between Julie and Luke. When he nods to the dining room, they both get the message.

“Reggie, just stay here for a minute. Okay?” Julie grips his hand tightly between her own — tight enough to anchor Reggie to the present, when he looks ready to drift away. His eyes are wide, face clammy and colorless. Each breath comes shallow, uneven, like he’s close to forgetting how to breathe at all. It’s hard to put a name to the storm of expressions on his face — _dread_ seems too strong, _horror_ doesn’t feel strong enough. He’s somewhere in the middle of the two, with a healthy dose is shock thrown in for good measure.

The realization that he’s _fading_ is sinking in and Reggie is slowly drowning in it.

The last thing Julie wants to do is leave him… but the boy’s are waiting, their urgency tangible from the next room, and she has no choice.

“We need to talk,” Alex declares, as soon as they’re all assembled in the dining room.

“Uhh, you really think so, Alex? _Great_ idea!” Luke’s tone rattles Julie to her core. She’s never heard him sound so venomous — or so terrified. Even Alex flinches, the barbs of Luke’s ire cutting him.

“No time for talking,” Julie cuts in. “Alex, you need to go find Willie again. Tell him what’s happening! I know you said he didn’t know anything before, but maybe —“

“That’s the thing,” says Alex. “I lied.”

His friends fall silent, staring at him.

“You.” Luke has to stop, take a breath, and try again. “You what?”

“What do you _mean,_ lied? You lied to us?” Julie reels with the new information. Until this moment, she never thought Alex was _capable_ of lying — he has a worse poker face than Reggie, and gets all fidgety when he tries to fib. He’s literally picked the worst possible time to prove a new skill. “Alex, _why?”_

“Because I thought — I didn’t _want_ to think —“ _There's_ Classic Alex — pokerfaceless, wearing his emotions like the glaring logo on the front of his hoodie. Distress twists his features into something close to tears, and Julie’s anger immediately shifts to alarm. “I don’t _know_ ,” he croaks. “I didn’t know what to do, I just — hoped he was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” Luke’s voice is carefully controlled. “Spit it out, man.”

A shadow falls over Alex’s face. He lowers his head, unable to meet their eyes any longer. 

“Willie didn’t know what was happening to us. He never heard of ghosts catching chest colds. But… some of the things.” He pauses, clears his throat, and rubs a hand across his jaw. “Like going transparent, and… seeing things that aren’t there. He hasn’t just heard of it before. He’s seen it.”

Julie forces a deep breath; her lungs burn. Suddenly, she feels like she’s underwater.

“Willie called it… the _in-between_. Sometimes, spirits get… caught in the middle of life and death. Their soul wants to stay in one place, in the afterlife, but it knows there’s somewhere else it needs to be. Like... getting caught in the wall between two rooms. You can’t enter either of them, and at some point, the wall has to come down if you want to get out.”

“Okay, great.” Metaphors, Luke can handle; he seizes on this one eagerly. “So we knock the wall down, and make sure Reg comes back on our side. _Boom_ — no unfinished business, no more weirdness. No big deal.”

“It’s not that easy, Luke.” Alex runs a hand through his hair, ducking his head for the excuse not to look at them. “There are a lot of ways to cross over. Willie says this is the hardest. Like — your spirit’s fighting itself every step, and won’t stop fighting until… until you go.”

Now, Luke is painfully silent. Alex might have just struck him in the face. His shoulders are hunched, face like a wounded animal.

Julie’s the one to speak. “We’re… talking about crossing over now?”

“He _can’t.”_ Luke shakes his head, and doesn’t stop… like the action alone will hold Reggie here with them. “He can’t, not now, not… not without us.” Even as he bares his teeth, he can’t hide a quivering lower lip. “We still have so much to do here!”

“I told you, man, I _don’t know_ — Willie didn’t know. Nothing that goes on with us is normal, okay? This _isn’t normal! I_ t could be — it could be something different, it could just be some weird ghost flu —“

“No.” Even Julie is surprised by how steady her voice comes out — how emotionless. “He is being pulled by something. He told my dad… and...” Every word falls like a stone, weighing her down more and more. “Can’t you see it in his eyes?”

She raises her gaze to meet the boys’. Their surprise is reflected back at her… their fear, their pain. Julie finds herself beyond the point of hurting. She _knows_ what it’s like to lose the person you love most. More than once, she’s even thought she lost the guys… and maybe all of that hurting paid off, or simply burnt itself out. Now, she only feels numb.

 _(Besides,_ a tiny voice in the back of her head whispers, _you haven’t lost him yet. You can still touch him. As long as you can hold him, he’s still here._ But she held onto her mother as the life fled her, too, and Julie knows a pretty lie when she hears it.)

“Julie—“ Luke starts, but is cut off by Alex’s abrupt, _“Shit.”_

Julie swivels to look at him… but just as quickly, her gaze is drawn past Alex, into the next room. Alex is staring too, his eyes wide. When Julie processes what she’s seeing, hers nearly pop out of her head.

“Oh, no.” In an instant, Luke springs past them both, shouldering Alex aside as he races into the living room. “No, nonono…” He vaults over the back of the couch, landing on the other side; immediately, he’s scrambling through pillows and blankets, as if trying to feel something invisible. “No!”

“Luke —“ Somehow, Julie’s able to rush after him, to speak even though her throat is slowly being crushed. “Luke, stop, he’s not there.”

“He could be invisible, Julie! He could be sitting _right here,_ we just can’t see him… _Reggie!”_ Tears weigh down his words, drowning them in grief; when he turns, wet trails glisten on his cheeks. “We gotta find him. We’ve gotta get to him, Julie, _feel_ —“

“Luke! Luke.” She finds _him_ — her hands around his wrists, her gaze boring into his. It takes all the power Julie possesses to keep her voice steady… but slowly, slowly, she drags Luke back to earth. His breaths ring harsh in the air between them, chest heaving. Every last instinct urges her to brush away the tears on his cheeks… but she holds herself back with the iron leash of her own fear.

Julie inhales, slow and deep, and Luke is forced to go along with her. Slowly, she lowers a hand to the empty couch. There’s no resistance — not even a chilled spot in the air where she might be passing through someone invisible. “No one’s here, Luke,” she says softly. “He’s not here.”

Luke’s next breath sounds like a sob.

“You guys.” To Julie’s absolute relief, Alex’s voice is also steady — she’s not sure she could be the only one holding it together. When they look towards him, he’s still standing in the doorway, white-faced. “Where would he go?”

Julie shakes her head. They left Reggie for five minutes — and he was barely able to hold himself upright, still reeling from dizziness and overwhelming brain fog. The shock of being passed through by his friends rattled him, sure, but he didn’t seem to be fading any more than he already had.

“He— he was upset,” Julie finds herself stammering. “Maybe…”

Luke snaps his fingers. “The loft. When he wants to be alone —“

“There’s no way he can pull himself up that ladder right now!”

“He can’t teleport either!”

“Then —“

As one, the group glances towards the window, and the pitch black night beyond.

“Oh my god,” Alex exclaims, and rushes for the door.

Luke is close on his heels; together, they sprint through the dining room, phasing through the back doors without even bothering to throw them open. Julie can’t take such shortcuts. She rounds the couch, mind automatically racing to the most visible exit — if she were Reggie, and wanted to get outside, she’d have gone out the front.

No sooner has she made it to the door than someone else throws it open from the other side. Julie runs straight into her father’s chest, bouncing back with a gasp. She doesn’t get the chance to fall over before he’s caught her round the shoulders, steadying her.

“Julie, honey— what’s wrong?”

He picks up on her urgency immediately. Over his shoulder, Carlos — in his baseball uniform, still holding half a melting ice cream cone — gapes. For a second, Julie can only pant at them, her heart racing and throat tight with dread.

“Is it Reggie?” asks Carlos, and the fear in his voice shocks Julie out of her own. “Is he sicker?”

“He’s — he’s gone. Dad, we can’t find him, we don’t know where he —“

“Alright.” Her Dad’s hand tightens on her shoulders, and now Julie is the one being reminded how to breathe. The still-urgent part of her is wailing that _there’s no time, they have to find him_ — but a much louder piece of her is just so happy to have her father here, with all the reassurance he provides. He makes things feel like they can still be okay.

Just as Julie’s breathing levels out, a shout from outside knocks the air from her lungs all over again.

“He’s over here!”

Julie isn’t the only one to go running. Her father is hot on her heels, and Carlos — they all sprint together out the front door, around the side of the house, straight to the backyard. They get there in time to be greeted with a bizarre sight. Luke is blocking the path away from the garage like a goalie, arms outstretched to catch anything that tries to slip past him. Alex is standing completely still, not daring to touch — because he _can’t_ . If Reggie wanted to shoulder past him, or _through_ him, he could do it without breaking a sweat.

Reggie, however, isn’t in any state to do that. Hemmed in between his friends, swaying on his own feet, the sight of him is gut-wrenching. Moonlight glows straight through him, beams reflecting on the mottled pavement. It bleaches Reggie’s translucent skin, casts silver highlights into his dark hair, brightens his fever-blown eyes. Reggie spins around at the sound of approaching footsteps, nearly losing his balance. His eyes widen when he recognizes the Molinas.

“Reggie!” Julie exclaims, rushing towards him. “What are you doing?”

Reggie’s brows draw together. He glances left, then right, as though seeing his surroundings for the first time. He looks as confused as anyone to find himself standing out in the darkness.

“I was… umm…” Trailing off, he sways again, nearly toppling sideways. Julie steadies him without even thinking about it. She can see straight through him… but his arm is solid beneath her touch, warm and defined with subtle muscle. He _feels_ as much like Reggie as he ever has, even if all the Reggieness seems to be draining out of him by the minute.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. His voice is hoarser than before, with a new, foggy breathiness. He blinks around himself, as though just waking up from a dream. A shiver courses through his tense frame. “I was… I dunno, I was inside. Wasn’t I? Just laying there?” He worries at his lower lip with sharp teeth. “We were watching a movie.”

“Yeah, Reg.” Alex comes up next to them, on Reggie’s unguarded side. He still hangs back, hesitant to get close enough to touch, but his eyes are soft with sympathy. “That the last thing you remember?”

Reggie considers it for a long moment before shaking his head.

“The little boy...” His eyes flutter as he sways again. “I heard him calling me. He was looking through the window, and… every time I got close, he just kept running. I didn’t even think about it. Just — just went after him.” Without warning, he lurches forward, knees giving out underneath him. Julie scrambles to prop him back up — and somehow manages, despite Reggie’s shakiness. Even when he’s back on his feet, he sways. “Man, I’m dizzy,” he exhales, eyes squeezing shut. “Everything’s jus’... spinning. World’s worst merry-go-round.”

“Even worse than the one with the freaky horses?” Luke’s tone is playful, even if his eyes are dark with apprehension. As he comes up behind Reggie, his hands are tucked into his back pockets — a silent reminder not to try and touch. “Remember, you were always so scared of the one with the teeth—“

“Mmm. Those things were nightmare fuel.” Reggie leans into Julie’s support without opening his eyes again. As he sways, taking up more of her weight, Julie huffs with the effort to keep him on his feet. When she glances back, Carlos and her Dad are lingering a few feet away, watching the exchange with wide eyes. Their gazes dart between Luke, Alex, and Julie; never once do they linger on Reggie.

Luke sees it too. His gaze lingers over Reggie’s shoulder, at the assembled Molina audience; he offers a tight nod, and something more sympathetic when he turns to Julie.

“Come on, buddy,” Luke says, bouncing on his heels to keep from reaching out. “Let’s get you back inside, okay?”

“Yeah… okay.” 

Reggie isn’t about to protest. He’s docile as a lamb as Julie steers him away from the garage — or _wherever_ he was going. Alex and Luke linger right at his side, like they’re terrified to step away. Even though they can’t make their presence felt anymore, they’re going to make themselves seen; otherwise, Reggie might think he’s been left alone. One look at the boys’ faces makes it clear that option is unthinkable.

“Didn’t mean to cause problems,” Reggie slurs. “He wanted me to follow him.” After a pause, he turns, hazily looking past Julie to seek his best friend’s gaze out. “Luke, it was Nicky. I _knew_ it was. He’s… he’s not a day older than when we left..” A deep exhale triggers a few shallow coughs. His body jolting in Julie’s embrace. “How’s that possible, though? Is he okay? Did— did he get hurt like us?”

A tense moment of silence lingers over the other boys before Luke clears his throat. “No, man, Nicky’s okay. Definitely. He’s… he’s gotta be old now, dude, come on. Older than we are.”

“Yeah…” His exhale is shaky, burdened. “But he keeps coming to me, like he needs me. I just feel it.” A pause; a chuckle. “Big brother superpowers. We always know.”

Julie’s eyes widen. Her gaze flashes back up to the walkway, where her father hovers, uncertain. Carlos, wide-eyed and anxious, peers over his shoulder, seeking out Reggie even though there’s no way he can see him. Something in her gut twists at the fear on her little brother’s face — fear for the ghost they’ve both come to care about, the ghost Carlos has grown so close to over the last few months.

Of _course_ Reggie used to be a big brother. 

Julie nods to her father and brother as she steers Reggie carefully up the steps. “He’s okay! Just a little mixed up. We’re going to lie down again, but, uhh… he’s doing fine!”

“Am I?” asks Reggie, surprised.

“Absolutely!” replies Alex. “Not.”.

“Positive manifestation, guys,” Julie mutters under her breath, though she knows it’ll leave them more confused than ever. Right now, they could _all_ use a healthy dose of positivity.

As Julie steers her chosen family back up to the house, though, with Reggie’s limp weight burning into her side, she feels nothing but dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i try to stick with the voice of the show and not have the characters curse in my fics, so when alex drops the s-bomb, things have Gone Down.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all i'm going to say is... this chapter gets heavy, it features candid discussions of losing a loved one, explicitly to cancer. there's a lot of death talk this chapter. it was as hard to write as it probably is to read, so... just fair warning, going into it.

As soon as they reach the couch, Reggie falls back heavily upon it. He’s panting, pained lines etched into his colorless face. When they try to tuck him in, the blanket phases right through him.

“Oh,” Reggie murmurs.

Julie gives his shoulder a squeeze — just for the sake of _feeling him,_ knowing that he’s still there. “It’s okay, Reggie. You, uhh… might be better off without the blanket anyways.”

He looks up at her with dark, sad eyes. “Am I still sick?”

He’s still much too warm under her hand, that’s for sure. The fever’s shifted, but hasn’t broken. Julie’s lips press into a thin line, as her gaze turns on the rest of the band.

Luke is quick to drop to his knees beside her. His balances on the couch, an inch from Reggie’s head. “Yeah, man,” he replies, voice soft with sympathy. “Just a little. But hey, by tomorrow, I bet you’ll be good as new!”

Behind them, Alex coughs conspicuously.

Julie isn’t surprised, though — not by Luke’s bright smile, or the warm optimism in his eyes. She’d expect nothing less from him. Luke will never take no for an answer when it comes to someone he cares about. He has the incredible ability to _believe_ in things, in people, even when every sign in the world is telling him otherwise. He never gave up on his dreams… he never gave up on reuniting with his parents… he never gave up on _Julie_ . Without him, she wouldn’t have been able to get up on stage in front of her entire school and sing again. If she’s learned anything from Luke Patterson, it’s that giving up is _never_ an option.

So she finds herself smiling too, running a hand up and down Reggie’s arm the way the boys probably long to. “Just like rubber,” she chimes. “Nothing gets you down. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

The ghost of a smile flickers across Reggie’s face. Julie knows him too well to believe it.

Slowly, Alex lowers himself into a crouch on Julie’s other side. Unease lingers in his tense shoulders, etched in his grimace and in the way he holds himself back — scared to touch, but too worried to stay away. Reggie’s gaze finds his. A moment passes before Alex has to look away, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“What do you feel, Reggie?” he asks softly — and that’s perfectly Alex, too, never able to take things on faith. He needs reassurance, even when there’s none to be found; he needs answers, even if they’ll only hurt more.

Something flickers across Reggie’s face. He tries another smile. “Not that bad, really.”

Alex looks back up at him. “Reg.”

Reggie knows Alex, too. They’ve been friends far longer than Julie’s even been alive. Knowing each other that well comes with its downsides.

After a minute, Reggie sighs, and seems to slump in on himself. Any bravado drains out of him. His shoulders hunch as a shadow passes over his face. Even though he can’t touch anything, his hands worry in his lap, restless fingers picking his nails ragged.

“Far away,” he admits softly. “Like... something’s pulling me. Like I’m caught in the tide, and it’s just dragging me back, further and further, and... I can’t swim against it. It’s too strong, and the more I try to fight it... I just keep going underwater.” There’s a distance in his eyes, a landscape of shadows that makes him feel a hundred miles away. When they flutter shut, it’s almost a relief. “And it’s _nice_ under there. That’s the scariest part.”

Luke shrinks. Julie swallows hard, and tightens her grip on Reggie’s arm. Alex is the one to clear his throat, taking a deep breath, before asking, “Do you... feel like you have to go somewhere?”

“I don’t want to. I wanna stay here... where it’s warm.” He shudders, gaze drifting off. After a few seconds, he muses, in a distant, untroubled voice, “Maybe I’m dying. Again.”

For a minute, no one speaks. When Luke finally laughs, he sounds agonized. “Hey, man! You’re not allowed to die without us! All together or not at all, remember that?”

“Yeah, Reg…” Alex clears his throat again, but his voice still wavers. “Totally uncool.”

Reggie’s eyes flicker between them, hazy and unbearably soft. He must see the love that’s choking them— he _has_ to, has to be able to hear it, has to know how much they care—

“S- Sorry,” he breathes, eyes slipping shut again. “I’ll... try not to.”

As he slumps back against the couch cushions, too exhausted to hold himself up any longer, a curtain draws shut over the conversation. Luke’s mouth is still half-open, overflowing with a thousand things he didn’t get the chance to say. Julie puts a hand on his arm, though, stopping him; and when Alex shakes his head, his mouth clamps shut.

There’s nothing more they can do for him now. Nothing more to say.

* * *

The next few hours are impossibly long, impossibly painful, and far too reminiscent of ones she’s already known.

Julie’s done this all before — she _remembers_ the pacing, the eating yourself up inside, wearing tracks in the carpet with nothing to do but stew over the prognosis while you bite your nails down to nothing. Hours slip by when you blink; at the same time, you’ve slipped into a liminal space where time means nothing, and drags its heels in the sand with every stubborn, unnecessarily torturous minute.

 _Reggie isn’t dying,_ she has to remind herself, over and over again. _He can’t die, because he’s already dead. Reggie isn’t going to leave us._

(But Julie tried to believe that about her mom, too, up ‘til the very end. Look how _that_ ended up.)

Carlos tries to hover, too worried about Reggie to even think of changing out of his baseball uniform — not until their Dad insists. It takes his prodding to remind Carlos to shower, to convince Julie to microwave some leftover _pasteles_ and force them down just to have something in her stomach. By bedtime, everyone is too wired to sleep — but Dad takes a hard stance on Carlos’s bedtime.

“But I can help! What if I stayed down here with Reggie tonight? We could watch TV, and I can keep him from getting lonely… it’s okay that I can’t see him! If he wants to talk, he can just write in my Math notebook, like we used to!”

No one knows how to explain the full extent of Reggie’s illness to him — that he’s too weak to pick up his head, let alone a pencil. Julie has to turns away. Too many afternoons, Mom hid the worst of her chemo symptoms behind closed doors and determined makeup; the refrain of _don’t let Carlos see_ always echoed through the house. He was too young for the truth back then — but her brother always knew, in his own way, how bad it was. He figured it out on his own.

With Reggie, will he even have the _time?_

“Nice try,” her Dad says, more sympathetic than stern, and clicks his tongue towards the stairs. Carlos pouts, slumping against the doorframe. Pouting, he peers into the family room, where he knows Reggie is laying. His eyes are impossibly sad.

Something in Julie’s gut twists, like a dish towel being wrung out until there’s not a drop of water left. Her dad feels it, too; it’s plain on his face as he lays a hand on Carlos’s shoulder.

“When Reggie’s a little better, you can spend as much time with him as you want. Okay? He’ll be back on his feet in no time, with a little Carlos Magic.”

Carlos considers this. “My presence _is_ a gift."

Her Dad grins; after a minute, Carlos grins back. They disappear up the stairs together, her father’s hand on the center of Carlos’s back the entire way; Julie watches them go, and wonders why she is left feeling so very, very alone.

She migrates back to the couch, where Reggie has curled up in a ball, and is laying very still. The unsteady rise and fall of his chest is periodically interrupted by harsh coughing fits — straight from his chest, congested and cloying, the sort that seem prepared to bring up a lung. After each one, he’s left faded… a little less in-focus, a bit more transparent than he was before. It’s a slow, but unrelenting process; and it seems to drain all the energy from him. After each fit, he clutches his aching chest and sinks back against the cough, too winded to hold himself up. Even now, when his eyes are closed and he’s relatively at peace… each breath wheezes in his lungs, sounding like agony.

Julie’s hand hovers over his brow, just feeling the heat radiating off of him. After a moment, she shakes her head and pulls away. The worst thing in the world would be to try to touch him… and not be able to anymore. (She’s not like Luke. She can’t believe with all her heart, and just _trust_ things will be okay.)

Instead, Julie retires to the dining room. She settles at the table and slumps down, head between her arms. Her fingers tangle in the uncombed mess of her hair, in a way that will certainly leave knots tomorrow; at the moment, she can’t make herself care. It’s all she can do to focus on breathing, pulling deep gulps of air into her lungs and clinging onto them until they burn. When they escape again, she imagines they take some of the unbearable dread with them… but after every breath, she feels just as heavy as before.

She isn’t sure how long she sits there… only that she doesn’t hear anyone else approach until her Dad’s scent is in her nose, and his familiar hand upon her shoulder.

“You need to get some sleep too, honey,” he says. “After everything we’ve been through today…”

Julie pushes herself up with great effort. She feels ancient; every limb aches, and an exhaustion deeper than _tired_ lingers in her bones. 

“I don’t think I can, Dad,” she admits hoarsely. “Everything’s… so wrong.”

Her Dad lingers on her. Whatever he sees in her face — whatever he _understands_ — it’s enough to make him nod after a minute, his hand running circles over her shoulders in a way that melts some of the tension from them. Julie leans into his touch, and he sighs.

“Why don’t we have some tea and talk it out, huh?”

* * *

When Julie was little, she believed tea with dad was magical. They always saved it for the hardest days — a go-to solution, guaranteed to make any sadness a little lighter, any problem easier to fix. _Abuela_ , when she was still alive, kept a dozen blends of tea in her pantry, all rich with different herbs, usually grown herself. Her Dad grew up with the comfort of tea, and keeps the tradition himself… even if his blends come from the convenience store shelves. 

To little Julie, they were magic potions, able to warm her insides and make the outside world seem clearer… though a large part of that might have just been her Dad’s calm words, and his talent for listening.

“Passionflower, chamomile, and lemon,” he declares, setting the cup in front of her. “Lavender for me.”

Julie smiles. “Every time.”

“I’m a simple kind of guy,” he shrugs, sitting down across from her. When Julie picks up her cup, her hands tremble around it; her father’s gaze lingers, thoughtful, before turning back to her. “Now… tell me what’s going on.”

She doesn’t know where to begin. Every time she closes her eyes, she only sees Reggie, fading away; she only hears Alex’s words in her head. _The in-between… your spirit’s fighting itself, and won’t stop fighting… until you go._

Her heart spasms in her chest, and somehow, it all comes pouring out.

“I don’t know what to do, Dad,” she confesses, once she’s finally explained what Reggie’s going through. Tears trail slowly down her cheeks — she’s not sure when they began — and her teacup has gone cold in her hand, forgotten. Her other hand remains clasped right in her father’s own; he offers strength she can’t summon, the strength to keep going.

“Is there… any way to help him? To anchor him here?”

“I don’t know.” She sniffs, swiping her face with the back of her hand. “He’s just… going so fast. He’s barely even here anymore.”

“We can’t even touch him,” pipes up a voice from the doorway. For the second time tonight, Julie startles. 

(Usually, the boys can’t manage that — she can always feel their presence, like flames in her chest burning brighter whenever they’re near — but she’s so distracted tonight, they barely even register.)

Her father’s sympathetic gaze invites them. Tentatively, Luke and Alex make their way into the dining room. Their shoulders are hunched, heads lowered; Julie has never seen them look so lost before, and it startles her. Even when the boys were being zapped from existence… but, of course, they all had each other then.

“We don’t know how to keep him here,” Luke admits, taking a deep breath. “We don’t know what to do.”

“We just… well, we thought maybe…”

Luke, Julie realizes, has Reggie’s bass slung over his shoulder. At her widened eyes, he just shakes his head.

“He’s way too out of it to play,” he replies grimly. “And… he couldn’t even touch it, Julie.”

A tiny whimper catches in her throat. Julie presses a hand over her mouth, slumping forward. Tears sting her eyes; her own face, reflected back at her in the amber depths of her teacup, is twisted with grief into something unrecognizable.

As if on cue, another round of harsh coughing starts up from the next room. Everyone jumps at once — aside from her father, who can’t hear a thing. As each guttural hack rings out, Julie can’t help flinching. Luke’s shoulders tense; Alex makes a movement towards the door, itching to comfort him, but some instinct stops him in his tracks. He stands frozen, every muscle rigid, as the fit slowly dies down again.

“I just… don’t want to see him suffering,” Alex says, in a very small voice.

“And he’s in a lot of pain,” Luke adds. “The worst part’s… not being able to help him at all.”

Every word pierces Julie’s chest like bullets.

Her father’s hand tightens around hers; when she looks up, his jaw is set, eyes bright and brows twisted in grief. He’s staring hard at her, and Julie knows — she knows exactly what he’s thinking. She can’t help the memories, either, or the awful sick feeling as they overcome her.

_I want to stop the chemotherapy…_

_The doctors say there’s nothing more they can do…_

Yes, Julie _remembers_. The ice cold feeling of helplessness, the agony burning in her chest whenever her mother was too weak to sit upright… the desperation to take away just an ounce of pain, and always coming up empty.

She remembers feigning sleep in the hospital waiting room, the cold plastic wall pressing against her temple — watching her father and tía through half-open eyes. He was sobbing; she was sitting very, very still.

 _All of the pain,_ he wept. _All of the hurting… I want to make it stop it. I just want to take her away from it all. And I can’t... I can’t stand it anymore, Victoria, I can’t._

Tía Victoria was very quiet for a long time, before saying the words which engraved themselves into Julie’s ribs, and burnt a brand into her soul.

“There’s only one way we can help him,” she speaks softly, now. 

Luke and Alex look to her, surprised. Julie meets her father’s eyes, and his hand tightens around hers. Subtly, he nods. Julie takes a deep breath, and exhales her next words.

“We can let him go.”

“What?”

“Julie!”

The boys spring forward at once, pain and alarm flashing across their faces. A part of Julie wants to shrink back from their horror, but she holds her ground; once, that was her reaction, too.

“You just —“ Luke’s eyes narrow, fury and fear at war in his twisted expression. “Just wanna give up on him?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“What _are_ you saying?”

Even though her heart is breaking, Julie stands her ground. “I’m saying,” she says, voice steady, “we need to do what’s best for him.”

“And you think just, just — just _letting him go_ is the best thing for Reggie?”

“It may be the only thing we can do, boys.” Thankfully, her father is willing to pick up the thread where it slipped from her hands. He leans forward, meeting both boys’ gazes individually, and holding them. “The kindest thing. When someone you love is in pain… I know, firsthand, how unbearable that can be.”

A bit of fight drains out of Luke’s shoulders. Alex’s eyes glisten.

“Now, I don’t know anything about ghost sickness. But I do know about loving someone… and losing them, when you love them the most. None of us can feel what Reggie’s feeling right now, only… imagine what it must be like for him. But if we’re imagining _right…_ that means he’s fighting to stay with us. We don’t know if he has to cross over, we don’t know if he’s leaving for good… but he’s trying not to go, because he’s frightened. Frightened of leaving us.”

A whimper slips past Luke’s lips, startling him as much as anyone else. He quickly clamps a hand over his mouth, shrinking into himself. When Alex turns, Luke stumbles back a step, almost frightened.

Julie finds herself on her feet before she even realizes she’s moved. Maybe she catches Luke by surprise, too. He sees her coming, but doesn’t try to run. When her arms catch him, wrapping around his shoulders, the energy seems to drain from him all at once; he lets himself be drawn into her embrace. Only then does Julie feel how tense he is, the way he practically trembles against her. When she squeezes, his arms close around her back, pulling her tight against him.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Luke replies. His exhale against the crown of her head trembles. “I know.”

For the first time, he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to include a scene at the end --- the entire group talking to reggie, "letting him go" in a way --- which i ultimately decided will work better as its own shorter chapter. so, for now, this is where we leave things.
> 
> (for anyone upset --- i'm just gonna say, this story isn't tagged major character death!! i'm a professional, i don't not tag things unless i mean it.  
> though... if i do kill reggie...  
> am i technically committing REGICIDE?)


	10. Chapter 10

A gentle hand on his shoulder stirs Reggie awake, slowly, like dawn rising out of a black night. His eyes flutter half-open and flicker between the figures looming above him. Hazy confusion registers on his face for a moment, before he settles on the nearest and most familiar.

“Hmmm… Julie? Hey…” He offers her a weak smile. “Is everything okay?”

Julie’s chest feels tight, her lungs too compressed to draw in air. Her own smile feels like a joke, a cheap Halloween mask that doesn’t hide the sadness behind it at all. Still, she smiles, and gives his shoulder a tiny squeeze.

“Yeah, Reggie. Everything’s fine.”

“Oh…” He nods, brows drawing together. Something isn’t right, and that much is plain… but it’s only a few seconds before his eyes are drawing closed again. “Sorry,” Reggie murmurs as he slumps back against the couch. “I’m just... really tired...”

Luke and Alex exchange worried glances. Julie looks between them, one phantom at each shoulder, and tries to reassure them with her eyes alone. Again, her grief is too obvious; they just look more pained, more devastated. Alex is the one to finally break, after a silence that stretches on for too long.

“It’s okay, Reg. We —“ He takes a deep breath. “We just... you have to know it’s okay. We’re here for you no matter what, but... if you need to go somewhere else, then...”

“Don’t hold yourself back for our sakes, man,” Luke adds, in a small, soft voice. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Reggie’s eyes flutter open again, darting between them. His brows furrow; slowly, he curls in on himself, as though trying to protect his own body from the grief they can’t help bleeding.

Julie’s hand finds his. She gives it a squeeze; he squeezes back, though he looks troubled by the comfort. “We’ll miss you every second you’re gone,” she says softly. “But all we want is for you to feel better, Reggie. If you have to…” Her throat constricts, voice quaking. “Leave us to do that... if you have to follow something else, then... it’s what you have to do.”

Reggie’s hand tightens around her own. He blinks up at them, with hollow, distant eyes — half-here, and half somewhere far away, too far to be pulled back by words alone. He exhales a raspy breath; when it catches in his lungs, he doesn’t cough, just shudders a little.

“But I’m scared, you guys,” he finally says, in a voice almost too small to hear.

When Julie opens her mouth to reply, her voice dies in her throat. If she makes one sound, she’ll end up weeping. Over her shoulder, she feels Alex go tense, hears Luke’s breath catch.

Without the ability to utter a word, Julie simply lifts her head, and mouths two words over the back of the couch. _He’s scared,_ she echoes, and an unexpected voice finally shatters the painful silence.

“That’s alright.”

The response is instant, a little like magic, Reggie’s head shoots up; a new brightness illuminates his eyes. As soon as he catches sight of the figure in the doorway, a bit of the tension In his body bleeds away. He looks so relieved, the glaze in his eyes could easily be mistaken for tears.

“Ray?” Reggie breathes.

Of course, it’s not ideal. Julie’s father can’t see him; he can’t hear him; yet he’s drawn to the side of the couch anyways, by some force stronger than the five senses. Ray settles down at Reggie’s head. Somehow, his blind eyes find the exact location of an invisible boy. When he smiles, it is impossible for Reggie not to feel thoroughly _seen_.

“Reggie... there’s nothing wrong with being afraid when facing down something we’re not sure of. Fear is powerful... it makes us strong. It pushes us to do things we never thought you could. Without fear… there’d be no such thing as bravery, and it wouldn’t mean anything at all.” He pauses to take a deep breath; there’s a very slight imprint in the cushions, and he uses that to guide his eyes. Instead of seeking out blindly, his hand settles over Julie’s own, where she still grips an invisible one. Although Ray can’t feel a second hand, his palm hovers over nothing anyways; he knows Reggie is there, and that’s the important thing. 

“I know you don’t want to leave us,” he says softly. “I know... you don’t want to be alone. But you _won’t_ be, Reggie. That’s a promise. Whatever happens, wherever you have to go right now… it’s what’s meant to be. We can’t stop it. We can only face what’s in front of us, and be brave.” His brows furrow, emotion flooding his voice. “But you will _never_ leave our hearts, and we will never stop caring for you. No matter where you go… even if you’re not able to come back to us afterwards. It doesn’t matter how far apart we are. If you have to go far away…” He pauses to inhale; his exhale trembles. “It’s alright.”

“Love is like the snow, Reggie,” Julie adds. “It never goes away.”

For a long moment, Reggie can’t say anything at all. When his gaze locks on her, his hand automatically tightens. Past a sheen of tears, the echo of something playful and perfectly _Reggie_ sparkles in his eyes.

“I dunno how to tell you this, Jules, but snow melts.”

She bursts into giggles, despite the ache in her chest and the tears rolling down her cheeks. Only Reggie can make her laugh when her heart is breaking. “Snow in Antarctica, then!” she declares, scrunching her nose against a blur of tears. “You know what I mean.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his gaze flickering between the four of them — the brothers he's always treasured, the sister he never had, and the father he deserved. Slowly, Reggie’s grief melts away like fresh-fallen snow, into something gentle… _peaceful,_ in its own way.

“I think I do,” he says softly.

Julie‘s tears fall freely; she doesn’t try to stop them. “You’ll always have a home here, Reggie. You’ll always have a family with us.”

“So if you need to go…” Alex’s voice is thick with tears too; but when he lays a hand at the foot of the couch, an inch from Reggie’s own, he doesn’t tremble. “Reg, if you need to leave, it’s okay.”

In the quiet, they can all see him fading. His edges grow less defined, blurry like the world through a sheen of tears. As he sinks back against the couch cushions again, the last of his strength giving out as exhaustion sets in once more, Reggie heaves a deep sigh. His eyelids flutter, gaze flickering between his friends, like he’s trying to treasure every second.

“Thanks, guys,” he murmurs, almost too low to hear. “Thanks. I... really love you guys.”

Luke’s inhale trembles, but his exhale is a laugh. “Yeah, buddy,” he replies. “We love you too.”

* * *

Everything’s quiet after that… and Reggie is so, so grateful.

The pounding drumbeat in his head dulls down to a low pulse, keeping the beat of a song only he can hear. It’s easy to get lost in the music, and let it carry him away. It would be so simple to fade out entirely... to give into that siren song in his head, that pull in his chest telling him to just _go._

He doesn’t like to think of himself as an impulsive person. Everyone who’s ever met him would probably disagree… but Reggie’s actions always make sense to _him_ in the moment, and seem like the best way to go. He’s not in the habit of doing things for no reason, or without knowing why; ever since dying, he’s decided life’s too short to waste time on what makes you unhappy. Reggie follows his gut, sure, but that’s still a working part of his body. They’ve always had an unspoken agreement, his head and his gut, and made perfect sense to him.

(For example: two minutes after finishing that hot dog, his gut was screaming _Bad! Bad!_ and his head agreed with, _Oh, shit._ )

Now, something’s out of sync. The singer is off beat; the instruments are out of tune; and nothing makes sense, because his gut is telling him to go, and all Reggie’s head — all his _heart_ — wants to do is stay.

He was starting to wonder how long he’d be able to hold on, before he just _couldn’t_ anymore. He was wondering how long it would be before he faded away. And yeah, that was a scary thought — scarier than he knew what to do with — but worst of all was the thought of his friends. The looks on their faces, the fear in their eyes… Alex pulling away from touching him like his hand was on fire, Luke’s tragic puppy dog eyes begging him to stay. The way Julie clung to him like she needed to prove he was still there… the pain that flickered across Ray’s face in the bathroom, seconds before he turned away, and Reggie realized he’d ceased to exist.

 _That_ was what scared him, more than anything else.

The unknown is scarier, too… but the stronger the pull becomes, the less he finds himself afraid of it. Something in the way it makes his head fog and limbs tingle feels familiar — like being wrapped in the blankets of his old racecar bed, from when he was a kid. It’s a feeling he almost forgotten, like long-neglected muscles stretching themselves out after too long a time. It’s taken all the strength Reggie has to remind himself of where he is now, and why he has to stay… who he has to stay for… and not just let himself run.

But it’s okay now. He doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.

For the first time in ages — _god!_ — he can finally breathe.

It doesn’t happen all at once; he’s not really aware of time passing at all. With the weight off his chest, he’s finally allowed to doze. A few times during the night, he wakes up to back his lungs out… but no one comes running, which he’s grateful for. (Maybe no one can hear him anymore.) As soon as he collapses back, the exhaustion takes him under again… and in Reggie’s sleep, he wanders.

The house of his past is nothing but an old crayon drawing now, etched from clumsy childhood memory. He wanders through the sketches out hallways, runs his hand to walls that feel like waxpaper and oil, and leave his palms stained with rainbow color. There is no light, no sound, no truth… all that gives the house dimension are the memories.

There — the closet under the stairs where his parents kept all their junk, where he’d always find Nicky hiding during their worst fights. There — the dent in the wall where a glass shattered against it. There — the fridge Reggie filled up with his own artwork, which would receive the occasional passing praise from his parents, and leave him glowing for days. There — where Nicky liked to play with his legos. There — where they always put the Christmas tree.

None of the memories feel real — they’re only memories, after all — but they’re so vivid. He could live in them forever, if only he let himself; it would be a half-life, but it would still be home.

And god… Reggie’s _missed_ home.

He feels himself waking before his eyes actually open… and it’s with an explosion of coughs, bursting out of his lungs and jolting him awake with a heave. Each one rattles through him, wrenching his ravaged throat and leaving his chest aching. His head pounds; his stomach churns. When Reggie’s finally able to gasp for air, his abused lungs reject it, and he ends up hacking all over again.

It’s agonizing. It’s terrifying. It feels like dying, only _worse,_ because he’s going through it all alone.

 _Just breathe, mijo,_ a comforting voice rumbles, straight from his memories. _Or better yet… don’t breathe. You don’t need to. You’ll be okay, I promise._

Slowly, Reggie lets himself be talked down; he trusts in Ray, and remembers how to not breathe again.

It feels a lot better that way.

Blinking in the hazy light, it takes Reggie a minute to realize where he is. His eyes sting with tears, forced out by the violence of his coughing fit. He swipes at his eyes like they’re an annoyance. His body doesn’t move right; it demands too much energy, goes too slowly, like swimming through molasses and feeling it weigh you down. When he pushes himself upright, his head spins. The blanket of exhaustion is so heavy, he almost lets it weigh him back down again. But there’s something about the empty living room that unsettles him. It’s not just the dim glow of dawn peeking in through the window… it’s not the sight of his friends, curled up together on the adjacent couch, dozing without even the slightest stir. It’s not even the shadows, though they stretch long, and seem to his swimming head like they’re dancing.

 _No,_ Reggie thinks, _it’s something else._

 _Someone_ else.

He’s not alone here.

A rustle of movement startles him. He spins around, head spinning with the movement… but the second he catches sight of the tiny figure in the door, everything steadies. The world goes still on its axis, like it’s stopped revolving; his chest feels lighter, his head clearer somehow.

The little boy stares at him with clear, bright eyes, and Reggie stares back.

He’d recognize his brother anywhere. He’d know Nicky in a crowd, in a storm, in this life and the next. Their father’s eyes, so dark they’re almost black, gaze at him from a tiny face; he’s too thin for his own good, still, with a shaggy mess of dark hair and bangs grown just a bit too long. He’s got freckles across his nose, and pale cheeks that always flush rosy in the winter air. When he smiles, Reggie knows for a fact, he’ll be missing a tooth.

So, it’s not the same Nicky he left behind… not exactly the same, anyways. Reggie sees that now, with the boy so close he could reach out and touch him. Nicky was twelve when he died, already shooting up like a weed. He was slowly getting his own life. Reggie didn’t worry about him as much; that’s why he thought it was safe to go on tour, to chase his dreams, with the promise of always coming home at the end of the day.

You know, ‘til he didn’t.

This little boy is younger than the one Reggie left behind. Five, maybe… no way he’s any older, though the Peters boys always suffer a tragic case of babyface. Reggie remembers Nicky at that age, though, and this kid is a mirror image… down to the Power Rangers t-shirt he wears, and the spark of curiosity in his eyes.

“Hey,” Reggie says out loud — though his voice echoes in a way that makes him wonder if he’s speaking at all. “What are you doing here?”

The little boy says nothing. He just turns on his heel, and runs.

It’s not that Reggie means to follow, really; it’s the only thing he can do. His gut screams g _o,_ and his head says _Nicky,_ and he’s on his feet and halfway through the door before his heart jerks him to a stop all at once.

He pauses, and turns, looking over his shoulder at his sleeping friends.

Alex is slumped over on the couch, his long legs curled up at an angle that’ll definitely cramp in the morning; he’s got his head balanced on Luke’s shoulder, letting Luke’s shaggy hair tickle his brow. Luke, in turn, has his hands tangled in Julie’s hair; her head is in his lap, face turned into him. They all doze without interruption, not a hint of worry in their forms, or grief on their faces… perfectly at peace.

Good. That’s the way they should be.

Reggie’s heart aches, but he pushes it back down. It’s okay to go, be reminds himself; it’s okay, even though it hurts. Going is what makes him brave… and no matter what happens, he knows he has a home to come back to.

His friends don’t need him right now. His little brother must — Reggie can feel it.

He turns away, and moves forward without even opening his eyes.

Letting go is easy. He feels it in one last exhale, one last shudder, one last sigh… it’s like sinking underwater. This time, he doesn’t bother fighting for the surface; there’s no need to come up for air. Reggie lets himself sink, and sink, until he feels himself emerge on the other side.

When he opens his eyes, he’s somewhere else entirely.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter features allusions to domestic violence + a generally toxic home environment. standard for Reggie’s backstory in this fandom, tbh. (remember back in chapter, like, three, where I said I wasn’t going to go into Reggie’s backstory? lol what happened to _that?_ )
> 
> another quick note: no, you’re not crazy! I went back and changed Reggie’s brother’s name from Mikey to Nicky — that’s the only change I made in the last few chapters, just because I like the name more.

Everything about the house is perfectly unfamiliar. That’s how Reggie knows, in an instant, that it’s real. In his dreams, he walks through shadows, echoes of places half-remembered, never well enough to capture the truth of the past. He could never imagine somewhere entirely new… especially not a home like this. Despite having never been here before in his life — never stood in this blue-and-grey tiles kitchen, never rifled through the snack cabinets or studied the photographs pinned to the stainless steel refrigerator — he can’t help feeling at peace here. 

This kitchen — this place — feels like  _ home _ . Not his home. Not the Molinas’ home, with their sunlit rooms and cozy interiors; not his childhood home, with all the familiar cracks in the wall; not his grandparents' old ranch house, wooden floors tracked with muddy footprints from dogs and kids alike. 

It’s someone’s home, though. Reggie feels it in the very air. Someone lives here, and loves it enough to decorate the fridge with childrens’ artwork and family photos. Someone hand-wove that potholder hanging from the stove; they bought that cookie jar, proudly proclaiming  _ Home Sweet Home _ ; they go to the trouble of polishing each surface, though with little kids in the house, you’ll always find a sticky handprint if you look hard enough.

Reggie wanders slowly around the wooden island block, studying his new surroundings. Real estate magazines litter the table, alongside opened bills and a school report card; he pauses before one of the envelopes, reading the address on it.  _ The Mackenzie Family?  _ As his brows furrow, he takes a step back, 

Has he ever known anyone named Mackenzie? He racks his brain, but comes up blank. Thinking is easier now… easier than it was before, laying on the couch in a feverish haze. His head no longer pounds; the world doesn’t spin around him. He’s not being dragged down by exhaustion. The simple act of moving no longer takes all the wind out of his sails. Yeah, Reggie still feels  _ weird _ — unsteady on his feet, throat sore and chest aching — but just being here makes him feel miles better.

Why? It doesn’t make sense. Whose house even  _ is _ this?

Outside, the early morning light is cool and blue… glistening through frost-coated windowpanes. Skeleton trees, the kind you just can’t find in LA, cast shadows across the front yard, dusted with a fine-coated layer of snow. Reggie’s heart leaps into his throat — real snow! How long has it been since he’s seen real, live snow?

… not since moving to California, when he was just a kid.

_ Toto, we’re definitely not in Los Angeles anymore. _

With fresh urgency, he spins back to the refrigerator, zeroing in on the photos there. His eyes narrow, brows furrowing. Most of the pictures are of kids; two little girls, with bright red hair and faces full of freckles, and a gap-toothed little boy. Reggie watches them grow through snapshots, from infancy to toddlerhood; the girls don’t seem much older than that, but the most recent picture of the little boy is a kindergarten photograph.

Reggie locks eyes with the kid in the photo; his heart stops in his chest. (Or it  _ would, _ if his heart actually beat.)

He’d know that face anywhere. The freckles, the dark eyes, that irrepressible grin… his little brother looked up at him with that same bright expression once, and believed every word out of Reggie’s mouth. Nicky was always a handful, but he was also the best kid brother in the world.

For a long moment, Reggie stares, unable to make sense of what he’s seeing. His gaze flies across the fridge, trying to take in everything at once. The grey-haired older woman, bouncing a twin on each knee, wearing Reggie’s broad grin. A silhouetted shot of a bride and groom on a beach. Family vacations, school functions, an entire life laid out in pictures. Dozens of faces he doesn’t know, people he doesn’t recognize… and one he absolutely does.

But… Nicky wasn’t even a little kid when Reggie left.

He’s not a little kid now. He  _ can’t _ be.

Finally, he settles on a family photo. It’s hard to make out the details; the family’s at the beach, striking a casual pose, and the glare of sunlight is almost too bright to make anyone out. The little boy is in frame, proudly clutching a bucket and pail. Both ginger twins are slathered in sunscreen, bundled into cute toddler swimsuits and floppy hats. Above them, a woman stands — tall and striking, with bright red curls pulled up into a bun. Reggie can’t seek out her eyes behind the sunglasses she wears, but her grin is broad. She looks kind.

And, standing next to his family, is a man. Broad-shouldered and tall, with slicked-back dark hair and a sunburnt face. He wears a wide grin while juggling one of the twins in his arms; pink starfish decorate his swimming trunks.

Reggie doesn't recognize him. He doesn’t have to.

He just…  _ knows _ .

“That’s my Daddy.”

An unexpected voice echoes through the kitchen; Reggie leaps like a deer on ice. His feet scramble under him, and he falls back against the counter, hand bracing against chilled marble. Once he catches his breath, he finds himself staring into a solemn pair of eyes —  _ dark _ eyes in a young, freckled face. Sitting at the kitchen counter, the boy stares at him; Reggie stares back.

It’s not his brother, not Nicky— that much he knows for sure — but still feels like coming face-to-face with a ghost. 

His brother’s son is the spitting image of him in every way. Even like this — in spaceship pajamas, with a mop full of bed head and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders — there’s  _ so much _ of Nicky in him. He’s got that classic Peters charm. Reggie’s throat grows tight, just looking at him.

He spends  _ so long _ looking, actually, that it takes a minute to realize the kid’s looking right back.

“You — you can see me?”

“Yeah.” The little boy doesn’t sound surprised by the question. His nose scrunches up. “Why? Are you invisible?”

Reggie’s hand trembles when he pulls away from the counter, dragging it through his hair. “Uhh, kind of. Sometimes? Sorry, I— I didn’t mean to scare you...”

Being seen is a twist he didn’t expect. A minute ago, he was a ghost peeking in on his loved ones’ lives; now, he’s just some  _ stranger _ standing in this kid’s kitchen. The little guy’s taking it super well, all things considered. Actually… he doesn’t seem freaked out  _ at all.  _ No crying, or screaming, or throwing anything. He's just sitting still, blinking at Reggie like it’s any other Tuesday.

“I’m not scared.” 

The kid’s brows furrow. Only then does Reggie notice how dull his eyes are, lacking the brightness from the photographs — how  _ tired _ he looks.  _ Just like in Julie’s house,  _ he thinks, and a familiar stab of worry pierces his gut. His voice is hoarse, too, painfully obvious when he goes on. “I saw you before, right? In my dreams… and in the living room. You were dressed different then.” The kid — Reggie’s  _ nephew _ — pauses, tilting his head. “I like your sweatshirt.”

Reggie blinks down at himself, surprised. Before, he’d been too out of it to even realize what he’s been wearing. The cartoon dinosaurs bring a smile to his lips, though... as does the rich, reassuring scent of  _ Julie _ still clinging to the fabric.

“Oh — hah, thanks,” he chuckles, plucking at the cartoon T-Rex. “I borrowed it.”

The little boy opens his mouth to speak, but his words are stolen by a sudden, violent coughing fit. He lurches forward, bracing both hands on the countertop. Reggie moves closer on instinct, hand outstretched; all that stops him is the realization that he doesn’t even know this kid’s name, and wouldn't be able to touch him if he tried.

Luckily, he recovers after a moment. When the kid lifts his head again, he’s wheezing, and looks even more worn out than before.

_ Yeah, I know the feeling. _

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, something clicks. Like a puzzle piece dropping into place, a crossword coming together; suddenly, Reggie is hyperaware of the burn in his own chest, the dull ache in his head, the shakiness of moving around with a fever. None of the symptoms have gone away. All of a sudden, they just  _ make sense. _

He always used to catch whatever Nicky came down with, too. Figures some things never change, even twenty-five years and a whole generation later.

The realization gives him wings. He finds himself stepping close, bracing himself on the other side of the counter. He peers at the little boy, brows furrowed. “Hey, little dude, you sound really rough. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

The kid huffs, and rolls his eyes—  _ actually _ rolls his eyes at him. “You sound like my dad.”

“Makes sense,” Reggie chuckles. “He and I go  _ way _ back. And if your dad told you to stay in bed, maybe he’s got a point.”

“Bed is so  _ boring!  _ I had to stay in bed all day yesterday, a’cause I had a fever. For  _ forever _ . And I couldn’t play with my toys, and I couldn’t have the iPad…” The kid trails off, hanging his head. “It’s cause I played in the snow too long without a hat.”

Reggie’s lips twitch in sympathy. “Yeah. That snow’ll get you every time.”

The kid slumps back in his chair, head tilting towards the ceiling. He lets out a long, drawn out groan; Reggie has to admire the performance art. “Being sick is the worst!”

“Come on, it’s not that bad! You can stay home from school, lay around, watch as much TV as you want... you get lots of attention.”

That was always Reggie’s favorite part about being sick, at least. Just for a little while, the world was quiet. No screaming and shouting into the early hours of the morning; no weird, tense dinners where his stories about school went ignored; no guilt over not being enough for his parents, or doing everything wrong. Just for a few days, the only thing that mattered was getting better… and that meant it was totally okay to laze around all day, watching TV and being doted on by his mom. If he’s being honest,  _ that _ was Reggie’s favorite part of all. His mom always took days off of work when one of her boys was sick. From there, it was a marathon of sitcom reruns, ice cream, and cuddling on the couch until you dozed off. Reggie still remembers the songs his mother hummed to him, the tickle of her fingers running through his hair, the burn of her lips on his fevered brow. Everything was quiet. Everything was gentle.

He never missed being sick, once he was better; but he tried to hold onto that warm feeling for as long as it would last, and missed it like hell once it was gone.

Why is his sick nephew sitting here all alone? Reggie tries to hide his concern with a smile, bracing against the counter as he leans forward.

“Where, uhh — where are your parents?” 

“Daddy’s at work,” the boy replies solemnly. “Mommy took Izzie and Bella for a sleepover at Auntie Bee’s, so they don’t get sick.”

They named their twins  _ Izzie and Bella? _ Well, at least Nicky kept his sense of humor.

“I’m sorry,” Reggie says softly. “It always feels better to have all your family there when you’re sick.”

The little boy looks hard at him, then — and maybe he’s got incredibly piercing eyes, or Reggie’s so unused to people staring at him after all this time, but he can’t help squirming. The burn in his chest grows more acute. He muffles a few shallow coughs into his elbow, wincing as his head aches.

“Do you have your family with you?”

Startled, he looks back up, blinking like an idiot. The kid stares back at him, brows furrowed.

And he doesn’t  _ mean _ to answer, he really doesn’t — but his brother’s entire life is painted on the fridge, a life Reggie never got to see, never got to have for himself. Reggie’s own freckles are painted on a long-lost nephew’s face. His family has never been closer, yet felt further away… and the words spill out before he can think better of them. 

“I do.” And as he speaks, he feels the truth bloom in his chest. “My, uhh... my brother Carlos, we’re going to watch cartoons later. And Julie, uhh — my sister. Julie. This is her sweatshirt, she let me wear it. And…” He hesitates for a breath, thinking of  _ fathers— _ harsh words and raised voices, the smell of liquor on hot breath, broken knuckles and his mother’s sobbing. Reggie’s eyes slip closed for a moment, and the echoes fade away… replaced by kind eyes, and a warm voice calling him  _ mijo. My son. _ Ray couldn’t have imagined what it meant, or how much weight those words held in Reggie’s heart. When he opens his eyes again, he finds himself smiling. “My dad’s the best dad in the world. All he’s done for the last few days is take care of me... he’s amazing.”

A grin blossoms across the boy’s face — and something in Reggie’s chest, some ball of unrealized apprehension, fades away. “My dad’s the best dad in the world too,” his nephew declares. “Can there be two of them?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Reggie replies, grinning. “There sure can.” 

_ “Ethan!” _

A woman’s voice rings out from the next room. Suddenly, Reggie can taste his own heart in his throat. His head explodes in fireworks. The world blurs at the edges, like a camera lens in soft focus, zeroing in on its subject until she is all he can see, all that exists in the world.

His mother steps into the kitchen. Reggie chokes back a gasp.

“Who are you talking to?” she asks, pausing before the kitchen counter. Her voice is just as warm as he remembers, from the Good Days. Age has weathered it a bit, as it’s weathered every part of her. She wears her hair much shorter now; it’s gone completely gray, rather than the slow-growing roots he remembers. A pair of glasses now shield her sea-green eyes, and the lines on her face speak of a lifetime that hasn’t always been kind. She’s put on weight; there are no bruises peeking out from beneath long sleeves and high collars. She looks so  _ different _ . To any of his friends, she might be unrecognizable… but she’s still his mom, and Reggie knows her as instinctively as he knows his own self.

The kid — Ethan — looks between Reggie and his grandmother, standing at opposite ends of the kitchen counter, before smiling. “My friend, Nana. It’s okay. He says he knows Daddy.”

“Oh?” His mother’s brow quirks up in amusement — the same expression she wore whenever Reggie would go on and on about his school day.  _ “Really.” _

“Yeah. His sweatshirt has dinosaurs on it. It’s so cool.”

“Dinosaurs are very cool.” Following Ethan’s line of sight, she turns… and suddenly, Reggie’s mom is staring at him,  _ through _ him. Her eyes are warm, smile like a secret shared between just the two of them. “Hello there, Friend,” she says, and Reggie’s breath catches in his throat. 

“H- hi,” he breathes.

Even if she could hear him, she probably wouldn’t be able to — but he still tries to speak again, even  _ knowing _ . The chance slips by before he can seize it. His mother turns away, towards the fridge, taking Reggie’s heart with her as she goes. She moves across the kitchen — still stepping silently, all these years later — and pulls a bright red carton from the fridge. 

Reggie can’t help chuckling.  _ Oreo chunk _ — some things never change.

“Alright,” she declares, voice light as she turns towards the cabinets. “Let’s get these bowls out.”

“What about my friend? Can he have ice cream too?” 

Surprised, Reggie and his mother swivel towards Ethan in the same instant.

_ “Please, _ Nana?” Oh, the kid’s got a  _ classic _ case of Peters Puppydog Eyes, and he knows how to use ‘em. “He doesn’t feel good neither.”

In the face of such overwhelming cuteness, Reggie’s mom puts up no opposition. “Sure,” she replies, laughing softly. “We can all have a little ice cream. One for you, one for me.” She sets out two bowls — and then a third, shifting it in Reggie’s general direction. “Let’s not forget our friend.”

Reggie watches, struck dumb, as she portions the ice cream into bowls — always two perfect circular scoops — and tops each one off with a spoon. As she works, Ethan slips from his chair and pads around the counter, feet bare on the kitchen tile, to watch. When she feels him at her elbow, she turns, and presses the back of her hand to his brow. She doesn’t wear a wedding ring anymore, Reggie can’t help noticing.

“Here’s some good news. Your fever’s gone down. Do you feel a little better, darlin’?”

Ethan nods; Reggie catches himself doing the same.

“I think one more couch potato cuddle day will have you all better in no time,” she declares, and Ethan giggles. (In a different lifetime, a different family, she said the exact same thing to two freckled little boys who looked at her like she hung the moon.)

Reggie’s mom gathers up the bowls of ice cream, and nods towards the kitchen door. As she sets off for the living room, Ethan turns, reaching out to Reggie. 

“You wanna watch TV with us?”

“That’d be…” Reggie’s head is spinning, and it’s no longer from fever. He has to fumble in the dark for words. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

Ethan reaches out, and his hand closes around Reggie’s own naturally. His skin is warm; his palms are soft. On top of every other surprise the past half hour has brought, Reggie’s brain can’t even  _ process _ this one. He allows himself to be pulled out of the kitchen, down a short hallway, and out into a cozy family living room.

Reggie’s mom has already settled down on the sofa, bowls of ice cream set on the coffee table in front of her. She reaches out towards Ethan, a comfy space available at her side, seemingly made for him to fit. The TV is already on, a familiar opening theme blaring.

“Aww,  _ Full House?” _ Reggie exclaims, settling down besides Ethan on the couch. “Man, that’s a classic.”

“Yeah, Nana likes all old shows.”

Reggie ignores the twinge in his chest; an episode he probably watched when it first aired is now considered  _ old _ . To Ethan, he must be ancient! His mother snorts, elbowing her grandson.

“Nana is sitting  _ right here, _ and can hear you,” she declares — before turning her attention to Reggie’s end of the couch. “Do you have any suggestions, Mr Friend?”

Her kind tone paralyzes him. It takes Reggie a few seconds of fumbling to even catch his breath; he can’t help gaping at her like a fool, the warmth in his eyes enveloping him like a blanket, even though he knows — he  _ knows _ — she can’t see him.

Finally, in a small voice, he manages, “Could we maybe watch  _ The Addams Family?” _

“What’s  _ The Addams Family?” _ blurts Ethan.

And Reggie sees it — that split second of shock, a tiny widening of her eyes, a flinch she tries to hide.  _ His mother remembers, too.  _ Those days on the couch, his head against her shoulder as he dozed off, fingers in his hair and murmured lullabies… she hasn’t forgotten him. Something in Reggie’s throat tightens, and he feels like crying. 

“That one?” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Huh. It’s been a while, but, alright... let’s see if I can find any of the old episodes on the YouTube. Ethan, how does this work again?”

As Ethan begins to coach his grandmother through navigating their Smart TV, Reggie settles back against the couch and closes his eyes, fighting a wave of tears. His heart stutters in his chest — a funny sensation, like a flurry of butterflies suddenly taking off into the air. He can’t  _ remember _ the last time he noticed his own heartbeat… but suddenly, his entire chest aches with it, and he’s never been more grateful.

The familiar opening tones of  _ The Addams Family _ theme song ring through the living room, and Reggie is swept back in time.

Remembering has never felt so sweet.

* * *

They make it through a playlist of five episodes. Reggie, admittedly, watches his mother more than the show; it’s a concentrated effort to take in every inch of her, every ew smile and frown line, every liver spot. He watches her expression shift, her eyelids flutter. At some point, she dozes, head pillowed on her hand, resting against the arm of the couch. The position looks uncomfortable. Mom was always falling asleep in weird poses, Reggie remembers, exhausted from work and late nights arguing; he would always be the one to gently shake her awake, or at least tuck a blanket over her.

With a trembling hand, still tingling from Ethan’s touch, he reaches out. His touch passes right through her shoulder.

He doesn’t realize the extent of his disappointment until Ethan’s soft voice rings out, beneath the hum of the television.

“Don’t worry. She can feel you.”

When Reggie turns, he finds his nephew watching him with solemn, knowing eyes. Something in his chest shifts, lightens; he fights the urge to cry all over again.

“I hope so,” he answers softly.

When Ethan snuggles up against his side, he doesn’t protest — only tucks an arm around the little boy’s shoulders, and gently ruffles his hair. It feels natural, despite the utter impossibility of his brother’s son being here, being able to touch him. Of having found what remains of his family, after all these months of looking and coming up empty. Of being home... even if it’s not his home anymore.

_ Yeah,  _ Reggie can’t help thinking, smiling into the glare of the television.  _ Sick days are still the best. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a funny note on genetics: sometimes it just be like that. my little nephew is supposedly made up of two people’s genes, but he’s an exact carbon copy of his mom at that age — you literally can’t tell them apart in pictures, they look so similar. same face, same hair, same everything.
> 
> so Reggie’s found what was calling to him! the question is, where does he go from here?


	12. Chapter 12

Julie feels it the moment he goes — like a flame in her chest, snuffing itself out. It doesn’t jar her awake with a start. Instead, she stirs into a sleepy, semi-conscious awareness. For a few minutes, that’s all she knows. It’s early in the morning, her head is in Luke’s lap, and Reggie is gone.

Reggie is gone.

Slowly, she sits up. The other couch is empty, a blanket neatly folded at one end. Their couch is more crowded. Leaning against Luke, Alex dozes, hair in his face and mouth half-open; Luke’s head is tossed back, face turned upwards into the rising dawn light. They both look so peaceful, so content, that she hates to interrupt them.

Julie leans forward, cradling her head in her hands, and waits.

It’s awhile before the boys stir to life. Immediately, they’re wide awake, gaping at the empty couch; their first thoughts are of Reggie.

“He’s gone,” is all Julie can tell them. “He’s somewhere… far away from us.”

Alex presses a hand over his mouth. Luke’s eyes immediately flood, glimmering as he ducks his head away. “Oh god,” he exhales, more a whimper than a word.

“Oh,” says Julie. “Oh! I don’t mean, like.  _ That.” _

The boys look at her.

“I just mean, he’s somewhere far away! Like, out of state or something! That’s all I can feel...“ She rubs at her aching chest, where the absence of Reggie feels like one of three candles on a birthday cake, sputtering out before the others — but it’s very much still smouldering, the tip incendiary-red. If Reggie really had crossed over, if he was just _gone…_

Well, in her heart, Julie would be able to feel it.

For now, all she’s able to offer the guys is a tired, reassuring smile.

“He’s still around,” she promises. “Wherever he is, he  _ will _ come back to us. I can feel it.”

* * *

The afternoon sun has sunk low in the sky when, with a flash of light, Reggie materializes in the studio.

Not a ghost —  _ Reggie.  _ Hale, whole, and as deceptively corporeal-looking as ever. He’s solid as a rock when Julie rushes forward, throwing herself against his chest. Reggie grunts, but his arms come to embrace her automatically… and his grip is fierce.

When he looks up, he finds the other guys hanging back. Though their faces shine with relief, neither dares to get too close — _just in case._ Reggie has to extend a hand, beckoning them towards him, before Luke dares to bite the bullet. When he places a hand on Reggie’s shoulder, his friend is solid beneath his palm… and suddenly they’re all hugging, a group effort of tangled limbs and overjoyed laughter.

“You guys are  _ never _ gonna believe where I’ve been,” Reggie exclaims, when they all pull away to breathe.

“You look so much better,” Julie blurts out. “Stronger. Reggie, you’re not faded anymore!”

“I  _ feel _ stronger.” His voice is still hoarse, and he jolts with a slight cough into his fist… but, just from touching him, his fever has clearly broken. He’s steady on his feet, and his gaze is focused as he looks between his friends. Something strange passes over his face for half a second — like he’s seeing them all for the first time, in a new light, and appreciating what’s right in front of him.

“Glad to have you back, man,” Luke declares, pulling him into a one-armed embrace.

“Yeah,” chuckles Alex shakily. “Don’t ever do that again, okay?”

“Dudes,  _ never _ — I understand now. I know what I was looking for, what was calling to me…” He rubs at his chest, as though massaging an old ache. “What I’ve been missing all this time. I found it again, guys... I found my family.”

Julie’s breath catches in her through. She can’t help the way her eyes water, or how she throws herself forward again, pulling him into another fierce hug. “Oh, Reggie!”

And that’s when she feels it.

Something so subtle, so benign, it would be easy to miss.

But eighty percent of Julie’s job involves being in tune with her bandmates at all times, so as soon as she feels an unfamiliar thrum through the fabric of her Dino sweatshirt, she notices immediately.

At once, she draws back. Wide eyes blink up at Reggie in shock… before she rounds on Luke, and presses a hand right against his chest.

“Whoa,  _ hello _ ,” Luke squeaks.

Nothing. Not even a blip. Drawing back, Julie next turns to Alex, who’s quick enough to see what’s coming. He tries to duck out of her reach, but she’s too quick; her hand finds his chest too, and searches around, all but patting him down through the fabric of his sweatshirt

“Julie, I have a lot of questions right now,” Alex begins, voice a pitch higher than it needs to be. He cuts off, though, the second he recognizes the feral urgency in her eyes. “What?”

“No heartbeat,” she murmurs, looking between him and Luke. “You guys don’t have heartbeats.”

Alex’s expression goes from bewildered to worried. “Uhh, okay. Do we need to go over the dead thing, or —“

_“Reggie,”_ is all she says, and lurches towards him again. Reggie allows himself to be felt up without complaint. As soon as Julie’s hand locates a specific point on his chest, she goes very still. As her eyes widen, Reggie mirrors the gesture; he exhales through ‘o’-shaped lips, wide eyes flickering between his friends.

“Is it… really true?” he can’t help asking. “I’ve got a heartbeat?”

“You’ve got a heartbeat,” Julie confirms. “Reggie —“

“Wait, _what?”_ Luke gapes. “Why do you get a heartbeat before us?”

“What does this  mean?” demands Alex. “Are you alive again?”

“I don’t know! I don’t feel alive! But I haven’t really felt dead for awhile, either, so —“

Reggie cuts himself off, eyes widening. He takes a quick step backwards, away from Julie, nearly stumbling into the coffee table as he does so. The back of his legs hit it, rather than passing through. When he steadies himself on the arm of the chair, his hand tightens around it.

“What if this means no more awesome ghost powers?” he blurts out.

Before anyone can react to this theory — or even process what that might mean for the band, for themselves — Reggie leaps in place, and vanishes in a flash of light.

“Huh,” says Alex, in the silence that follows. “There goes that idea.”

“There goes being alive,” Luke concurs.

Julie doesn’t reply. Her own heart is pounding hard, and feels full-to-overflowing. Anything she could say is drowned out by overwhelming relief — the sudden, perfect certainty that everything is going to be okay. 

She hasn’t lost anyone after all; in fact, they’ve gained something, in the most unexpected, improbable way.

What better reason could she have to smile?

* * *

Ray isn’t expecting the flash of light in the middle of their kitchen, or the sudden boy materializing while he’s in the middle of baking zitti — but as soon as he spots Reggie, all dinner plans are forgotten. Breaking into a wide grin, Ray steps forward, wiping sauce-stained hands down on his apron. 

“Look at you,” he declares, “looking like a new man.”

Reggie chuckles, and runs a hand through his hair, stiff with stale sweat. He’s got dark bags under his eyes, still, and looks exhausted… but in that familiar, post-sick way, not the _ I’m about to keel over way _ . A weight Ray hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying lifts off his chest.

“It’s good to see you again, kid,” he declares, and means it.

“Yeah, Ray,” Reggie replies. “It’s really good to be seen.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

His voice is soft, some impossible emotion on his face, when he answers, “Yeah. I sure did.”

Something in him seems to flicker, hesitant, between dinner on the stove and Ray himself; Ray reads his thoughts the instant they occur to him, and is just as quick to spin them around. “Oh no, not today. I can handle zitti without a helper in the kitchen, thanks. You wanna help me, you can sit down, and… see if you can stomach some water, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Reggie allows himself to be led over to the kitchen counter, and sits without protest. Leaning forward, he watches Ray pour out a glass of water from the tap, barely registering as it’s pushed towards him.

“Ray,” he says softly. “Is it… okay if I talk while you cook? I’ve got so much to think about, and… so much happened. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Eagerness shines in his eyes, barely restrained by his own hesitation. Reggie, who never thinks twice about the silly things that come out of his mouth, can be doubly-thoughtful when it comes to the important ones. Whatever this is, Ray realizes, it’s big. It means more to Reggie that he knows how to say… and, for some reason, he wants to share it with him.

His lips quirk upwards. “They say the beginning is usually a good place… but I like to think the best place to start is always the part that means the most to you.” Reggie’s eyes gleam; a tiny waver in his lower lip gives him away. Ray pats the table twice, an inch away from his hand, before pulling back to give him space.

“Go on,  _ mijo _ ,” he says. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

And when Reggie opens up his heart, Ray listens.

* * *

That night, they all gather around the dinner table together. None of the boys are able to eat at the moment... but they can all be seen and heard, as real as any other member of the family. Luke is in the middle of telling a very animated story involving Sunset Curve’s old book club gigs. Julie’s doubled over her plate, laughing at something Alex ad-libbed; Carlos grins, his cheeks smeared with pasta sauce, and even Ray is struggling to keep a straight face. At the heart of the madness, Reggie sits, a grin on his face, and warmth filling his heart to the brink of bursting. 

This is family, this is home… but his old one isn’t so far away, either. And they’re okay. All this time — even without him — they’ve been okay.

All the puzzle pieces have slotted into place. 

Finally, he feels complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this... isn’t the end. one quick epilogue to go, and yes, I’m posting it all at once! have fun, kiddos.


	13. + bonus epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for depiction of domestic violence!

**bonus : a scene from another life**

It’s half an hour past bedtime when he cracks open the door to his son’s room. He didn’t really expect to find him sleeping; Ethan is an energy ball on a good day, and spending the whole afternoon sick and napping isn’t conducive to a good night’s rest. Still, when he steps into the room to find his kid sitting up in bed, a comic book open on his lap, Nicky can’t help being glad.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are the worst. The rest of the week, his schedule isn’t as demanding. These days just take it out of him. Sometimes he can barely stand the long hours at the office, away from his family, focusing on work that hardly interests him when his mind is only on what he’s missing. Erica is always home to greet him at the end of the day, though; and sometimes he’s lucky enough to catch the kids before bedtime. 

“Hey, little man,” Nicky smiles. “How’re you feeling?”

At once, Ethan breaks into a wide grin, and the unease that’s been plaguing Nicky all day finally melts away. His kid never stays down for long. 

“A lot better! I don’t have a fever anymore! Nana found my Super Monsters shirt in the hamper, and I got a high score in the bubble game, and —“

“And how much ice cream did you have today?”

“Only a little.”

“Mmm-hmm. I bet.” Nicky chuckles, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. He gives Ethan a moment to settle down, gently tucking his teddy bear in against his shoulder, before pulling the covers up to his son’s chest. Might as well ask; there’s no point avoiding it. “Nana said you made a new friend today?”

Nickyy’s nod is prompt, enthusiastic. “Yeah. But he wasn’t imaginary, Daddy — I know how to tell the difference!”

Nicky’s hand hovers atop his son’s knee, patting it gently. “I know you know, buddy. We’ve... talked about it before.”

His mistake is letting unease leak into his tone. Ethan’s always so perceptive — eerily so, sometimes — and his intuition misses very little. Slowly, his brows furrow, lips drawing into a small pout. Nicky kicks himself. A kid should never feel like he’s not worth being believed.

_ (“I didn’t break it!” Reggie tried to cry, over their father’s booming rage. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t —” _

_ “Who else was it? Who else would be **stupid** enough to do it?” _

_ “I — I’m sorry!” _

_ At the sound of his older brother’s voice, choked with tears, Nickyy hugged his legs closer to his chest, and burrowed further back in the closet. Reggie told him not to come out, so he wouldn’t come out; he promised it would be okay, that Daddy wouldn’t have to know how the picture frame broke. It  _ should  _ be Nickyy out there, getting hollered at for being so careless, so  _ stupid…  _ but Reggie was bigger, stronger, so he said it should always be him.  _

_ It’ll be okay, Reggie said… and maybe Daddy never believed him, but Nickyy trusted every word from his older brother’s lips.) _

Ethan’s been in the “imaginary friend” phase since he was old enough to talk; even then, they always got the occasional sense that he was seeing things no one else could. The school therapist says there’s no reason to worry about it; it’s normal for kids at his age, and Ethan is popular enough with the rest of his kindergarten class that it clearly isn’t affecting him socially.

It’s just… troubling, sometimes, to find him in full conversations with people no one else can see.

Damned if he’ll admit that out loud, though, or ever let his son know it bothers him. Nicky isn’t that sort of dad. He never will be, ever.

“He was real,” Ethan insists, squirming beneath his covers. “Even though he couldn’t eat ice cream, and he couldn’t touch Grandma when he tried. And guess what, Daddy?” A wide eyed pause stirs Nicky’s interest. “He knew you!”

“Really?” He chuckles, ruffling his son’s already messy hair. Nothing to worry about — probably. Easy to shake off. “Well. Next time he shows up, you’ll have to introduce me, okay?”

“Okay,” Ethan says, with a tiny smile. It’s enough to put the last of Nicky’s fears at ease. He hasn’t bruised his son with his own disbelief; when it comes to the imaginary friend thing, that’s the most he can hope for.

He tucks the covers under Ethan’s chin, brushes his hair back, and plants a kiss on his brow. His nightlight is on, but Nicky adjusts the settings, just the way his son likes it; he picks a rumpled t-shirt off the floor, draping it over the back of Nicky’s desk chair, before whispering a soft goodnight.

The door hasn’t closed before Ethan’s voice breaks the silence. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Reggie said he’ll come back soon.”

Nicky’s hand freezes on the doorknob.

When he looks back, his son is watching him, guileless eyes wide in a happy, peaceful face. His father’s stare lingers a moment too long — long enough for Ethan to offer a tiny smile.

“Reggie?” Nicky repeats. The name echoes through his son’s room like a long dead ghost.

“He promised,” Ethan confirms, with a tiny nod. “We’ll see him again soon.”

Nicky’s heart pounds in his chest. Something swirls one his stomach, a familiar discontent… screams echoing from the next room, a solid hand massaging circles into his trembling back, soothing murmurs over his whimpering.

_ I’ll be back soon, little man. Promise. _

Reggie always came back.

Reggie always  _ promised _ to come back, until the day he didn’t.

And Nicky always, always believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this... is it? My first multichapter fic for Julie and The Phantoms — my first multichapter fic in AGES, honestly — complete! I’d forgotten how fun updating a story chapter by chapter can be... especially when it develops a fan base of loyal, incredible readers!!
> 
> You guys have made this story, and this fandom, so so worth it. The very best part of writing is getting to share with you, to read your comments. To everyone who followed this little tale, thank you so much! There will be more to come in this verse, eventually — probably more with Reggie’s family as well, and maybe the other boys. They’re slowly coming back to life, and that brings plenty of complications of its own. No way will it be easy.
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, I’ve got a dozen shorter JatP works posted, as well as plenty of works in progress / ideas for ongoing multichapters. Writing in this fandom is an amazing experience, and you guys make it worth every paragraph, so...
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading! <3


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